Soul Mates
by Darcy
Summary: Spike goes to London to investigate his past. What secrets will he uncover? How will they ultimately impact his relationship with Buffy? *Complete* Revised version w/ new eqilogue posted 5/2/02.
1. Sparring Partners

SOUL MATES  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story takes place after "Wrecked." This is my second attempt at fiction and a sequel to "Love Remembered."  
  
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters and institutions depicted in this story are property of Mutant Enemy and Joss Whedon. No infringement of rights is intended.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Sure. Just let me know.  
  
FEEDBACK: Any comments would be greatly appreciated!  
  
  
  
Chapter 1 – Sparring Partners  
  
  
  
It had sounded like fun: a little pain, some sweat, a bit of the 'rough and tumble'.  
  
How could he have said "no" to such a promising invite?  
  
But, later, after having his ass kicked around the training room for close to an hour, Spike was starting to wish that he'd stayed in bed that afternoon. When the Slayer had stopped by his crypt earlier, asking him to spar with her, he'd been surprised; not by her presence in his lair—she often came around—but by her behavior toward him.  
  
She'd been nice.  
  
Sadly, this rare civility had only lasted until he'd agreed to go with her. After that, she'd reverted back to treating him as she usually did—like he wasn't a person.  
  
Of course he really wasn't, but that was beside the point.  
  
Even vampires had feelings. And his were, like the rest of his body, being beaten, pummeled and trampled by the Slayer—and with such relish! Arguably, he could've hit back with his own superhuman strength, but—unfortunately for him—he was in love with her.  
  
And now, after being caught in the ear by a particularly nasty punch, he was hearing bells.  
  
"Bloody hell, Slayer!" Spike muttered, shaking his head in an attempt to dispel the ringing in his ears. He glared at his tormentor and combed his fingers through his slightly mussed, platinum blonde hair.  
  
Buffy glanced at the vampire, showing no sympathy. "Quit complaining, Spike," she said, leaping up and catching him in the chest with her foot. He staggered back, arms flailing out in front of him, but remained standing.  
  
"You know you like it," she added with a smirk.  
  
Spike eyed her with contempt. "Yeah, right! Getting my ass dragged out of bed in the middle of the day to be your sodding punching bag. Not exactly my idea of fun!"  
  
Ignoring his last remark, Buffy swung her fist, landing it solidly on his chin. His head jerked back upon impact and his body swayed but he didn't fall. Her lips curved upward into a smug smile.  
  
"Hey, you're like a Weeble," she commented, amused.  
  
Spike scowled. "A what?"  
  
"You know – a Weeble."  
  
"Enlighten me!"  
  
"Well—" Buffy did a leaping kick, catching him in the abdomen. This time, he fell back and landed with a thud on the mat.  
  
She looked at him with feigned surprise. "Oh…guess I was wrong." She shrugged. "Weebles wobble but they DON'T fall down."  
  
Spike lay back on the mat and closed his eyes. "That's it. Practice over. I'm done!"  
  
"Hey, it's been less than an hour!" the Slayer protested. She walked over to where he was lying and stared down at him with her hands on her hips. "Besides, I really need the workout. My training's been pretty sucky ever since Giles left. Nobody wants to spar with me."  
  
Spike arched an eyebrow. "I can't imagine why not," he said sarcastically.  
  
"Oh c'mon Spike." Buffy said, offering her arm. "Like I said, I really need the work—"  
  
In a fluid motion, he grabbed her hand, pulled her down, and rolled on top of her. His face was inches from hers as he stared down at her with a telling glint in his eye. "Actually, I had a different sort of workout in mind," he said in a low voice.  
  
In response, Buffy pushed him away, exerting her full Slayer force. He slid across the mat to the other side of the room. "Not gonna happen, Spike!" she said through clenched teeth.  
  
The vampire sighed and started to get up. "Have it your way, Slayer, but old Spike here is getting a bit tired of this game."  
  
* * *  
  
Up front, in the Magic Box, Anya was counting the money in the cash register for the third time that day. Although she knew it wasn't necessary to tally her receipts until after closing, it was a slow day and she liked the feel of the little green pieces of paper in her fingers. She even liked the way the bills smelled. She held them up to her nose, inhaling deeply.  
  
She was sniffing a particularly aromatic fifty-dollar bill when she heard what sounded like a scream coming from the training room. Quickly, she put the money back in the cash register, closed it and headed toward the rear of the shop.  
  
When she reached the training room door, she heard the sound again, only this time it was more like a squeal than a scream.  
  
Curious, she pressed her ear against the door and heard what sounded like panting, then a muffled, rhythmic thumping noise. The thumping halted for a few seconds and she thought she heard someone whisper; "Don't stop." Then it resumed for another minute or so until—There it was again – the same scream/squeal.  
  
Anya reached for the doorknob and tried to turn it, but it wouldn't budge.  
  
She pounded on the door. "Hey! What're you guys doing in there?" she yelled.  
  
There was a long silence and the ex-demon heard scurrying coming from inside.  
  
She knocked even harder. "Buffy! Are you in there?"  
  
More silence.  
  
Finally, the Slayer emerged, disheveled and breathless. Anya glanced past her and into the room where she saw Spike standing on the mat with his hand on his hip, looking amused. She immediately noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Her eyes narrowed and she stared at Buffy suspiciously.  
  
"Were you guys—"  
  
"Sparring." Buffy answered quickly before Anya could finish her question. "We were just sparring." She tried to shut the door but the ex-demon pushed it back open and entered the room.  
  
The magic shop owner persisted. "Didn't sound like sparring to me," she said, frowning. "Sounded more like—"  
  
"Spike's showing me some new moves," Buffy interrupted. "Self defense tactics." She looked over at the vampire, silently imploring him to back her up.  
  
He smiled mockingly then turned to Anya. "Yeah, I was just showing Slayer here some new techniques for ah…escaping," he explained. "You know, she starts off in a vulnerable position, like lying flat on her back on the floor here." He gestured to the mat. "Then I pin her down and she tries to get me off of her…by uh, wriggling around a bit at first, then bumping me with her lower body like this…" He demonstrated a series of hip thrusts. "Then she, uh, gives me a tight squeeze, using those Slayer muscles of hers, until I, uh, eventually just can't hold on anymore." Spike glanced at Buffy, suppressing a grin.  
  
Anya still didn't look convinced. "Sure sounded like—"  
  
"But it wasn't…that." Buffy laughed and waved her hand dismissively.  
  
Anya was still frowning. Although not satisfied with Buffy's explanation, she turned to leave the room. She had the sudden urge to find Xander and spend some quality time with him alone in the stock room. She took a couple of steps toward the door, then stopped and spun around. "But why is he half naked and why was the door locked?"  
  
Thinking quickly, Buffy replied "Spike's only got a few good shirts. Didn't want to accidentally rip any of them—"  
  
"And these particular moves are top secret," Spike added with a wink.  
  
Still looking doubtful, the ex-demon left the Slayer alone with her sparring partner and went off to call her fiancé.  
  
* * *  
  
After the former demon was out of earshot, Buffy glared at a now fully clothed vampire and punched him hard on the arm. "What the hell was that?" she asked angrily.  
  
Spike glowered back at her. "Oww! That hurt!" he said, rubbing his stinging limb.  
  
The Slayer threw her arms up in frustration. "You were practically telling her what we were doing!"  
  
He looked at her and shrugged. "Well, if you hadn't screamed—repeatedly—little miss Anyanka wouldn't have come back here in the first place."  
  
"It's just…" Buffy said, sounding exasperated. "I think she knows. I mean how could she not know?"  
  
"Yeah, well we're talking Anya here, pet," the vampire replied, his voice a low purr. "The girl's pretty clueless, if you ask me." He gently rubbed the Slayer's arm and began nuzzling her ear. "Besides, who cares if she knows? They're all going to find out one day. It's bound to happen if we keep this up."  
  
Buffy jerked out of his reach and frowned. "Well, maybe this just has to end." Her voice got softer. "Right here and now." She looked at him, her face determined. "We're done." Then tilting her chin up a notch, she added "I mean it this time."  
  
Reaching out, Spike laid both hands on her shoulders. He looked at her and managed a crooked smile. "No you don't, luv," he whispered. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. Then bowing his head down, he touched his forehead to hers and caressed her cheek with his thumb.  
  
Buffy gazed into Spike's blue eyes, mesmerized. Her mouth opened slightly and she ran her tongue over her bottom lip.  
  
"Spike—"  
  
He kissed her again, then looked back into her eyes. "I've got to go, luv," he said, his voice now husky. "But, there's something I need to talk to you about later." He stared at her unblinkingly. "Will you come by my crypt this evening?"  
  
Speechless, Buffy nodded in response. The vampire leaned over to kiss her one more time before heading out the door. 


	2. Tryst

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This chapter has a couple of references to events that occurred in my first fiction: "Love Remembered." It's not actually necessary to go and read that story (in case you haven't already done so) to understand and appreciate the plot of this one, however, I just wanted to point out this fact to avoid confusion.  
  
  
  
Chapter 2 - Tryst  
  
  
  
Spike sat on the stone sarcophagus and lit another cigarette. He'd been chain smoking for almost an hour—waiting for nightfall. The light shining through the clouded window of the large tomb he called home had become a soft glow. "It won't be long now," he murmured.  
  
The vampire thought of Buffy and imagined her going through some sort of inner turmoil trying to decide if she would honor his request with her presence or not.  
  
His lips curled into a knowing smile: She'd be there. She couldn't resist her one guilty pleasure.  
  
He blew out a long stream of smoke then threw the cigarette on the stone floor, angrily grinding it under his boot.  
  
He immediately lit another cigarette, but just held it in his hand, distracted.  
  
Spike couldn't help but feel frustrated whenever he thought of the Slayer. He figured he now understood how Riley, her commando ex-boyfriend, must have felt: being so close to her, yet never really having her. Like Riley, he couldn't offer her all that she needed. Although he had the darkness that she secretly craved and that her ex had lacked, he didn't have a soul. He wondered if the chip in his head and the love he felt for her could ever make up for that missing piece of humanity.  
  
He took a drag from his cigarette, looked up at the ceiling and slowly exhaled, watching the smoke rise and gradually dissipate. He then closed his eyes and tried to remember some of the horrors he'd committed in the last hundred years: men, women and children slaughtered mercilessly. The things he'd done, the images he recalled… They would've caused any man—any human—to be overcome with guilt.  
  
He opened his eyes and sadly shook his head. No, it was always the same. He could feel no remorse - only emptiness.  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy sat on her back porch, quietly stewing about the 'workout' she'd engaged in with her sparring partner earlier that day. His approach had been obvious and unoriginal, entirely predictable—yet highly successful. Her counterattack, on the other hand, had started out strong, but she'd quickly faltered and ultimately been ineffective. She pursed her lips, thinking about the encounter.  
  
And she was supposed to see him again tonight.  
  
Sighing, she looked up at the dusky sky, which was becoming a beautiful watercolor of pinks and oranges mixed with a darkening blue. It would be evening soon. Her lips curled reflexively into a warm, anticipatory smile as she thought of visiting the vampire's lair.  
  
Her smile became a frown as she realized the inappropriateness of her thoughts.  
  
'Stop it! You're not going!'  
  
Part of her, the part that resided deep down in her psyche, snorted derisively. 'Yeah, right!' it seemed to say.  
  
'Well, I…' Buffy watched as the last rays of sunlight disappeared beyond the trees and rooftops. Her expression remained calm, but in her lap, her clenched fists betrayed her inner struggle.  
  
'Aw, c'mon luv,' she could almost hear Spike say, 'you know you want to.'  
  
'Damn!' He was right—even when he was just a figment of her imagination.  
  
'Well, maybe…' She would go there to talk—to set him straight. Standing up, she took one last look at the fading California sunset: darkness was winning; day was becoming night. She hurried into the house to get ready.  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy arrived at Spike's crypt less than an hour later. She hesitated for a moment and contemplated leaving, but as if of their volition, her hands pushed the door open and her feet moved forward into the vampire's lair. The air in the tomb was thick with cigarette smoke, causing the Slayer to wrinkle her nose in disgust.  
  
"What did you do – smoke a truckload of cigarettes?" she asked, fanning her hand in front of her face.  
  
Spike glanced at the cigarette in his hand and threw it on the floor.  
  
"Sorry, luv."  
  
He walked over to Buffy, put his arm around her and steered her to the ladder leading to the lower level of his lair.  
  
"The air should clearer down there," he said, gesturing to the room below.  
  
Against her better judgement, Buffy climbed down the ladder, turned and stepped forward into the vampire's sleeping quarters. Spike followed, barely making a sound as he leaped from the middle rung and landed just inches behind her. Showing a lack of restraint that stemmed from having waited hours for her arrival, he quickly grabbed her around the waist and encircled her in his arms.  
  
"I've been thinking about you all day, Slayer," he murmured into her hair. His breath tickled her ear as he spoke, sending a pleasant tingling sensation down to the lower parts of her body. He turned her around to face him and kissed her lovingly.  
  
"All day."  
  
Buffy immediately noticed that the vampire tasted like a combination of toothpaste and cigarettes and smelled of soap and smoke. She imagined him getting ready for their 'meeting' tonight. Had he considered this a date? She abruptly pulled back and clamped her mouth shut, ending the kiss. It was definitely not…that!  
  
Pushing him away, she stumbled backward into the room and ended up sitting down hard on the bed, which had been neatly made up. Spike smiled seductively and seated himself next to her. He casually tried to put his hand on her knee, but she batted it away.  
  
"I came here to talk," she told him, keeping her eyes averted.  
  
"Right," the vampire said, sounding skeptical. He gestured to a bottle of wine and pair of crystal glasses set up on the nightstand. "Would you like some wine, luv?" he asked, playing the host.  
  
"No thanks," she replied quietly. She knew, based on prior experience, that alcohol of any sort was a bad idea, especially when she was with Spike.  
  
She glanced at him and bit her bottom lip. He looked undeniably handsome in a new shirt, and the candlelight seemed to warm his strong, chiseled features. 'Oh, no you don't!' she thought, scolding herself. Spike had gone to a lot of trouble with the whole seduction scene that night, but she was determined to resist him this time.  
  
"Right," Spike said again.  
  
He was silent for a moment.  
  
"I just wanted to tell you that I'm…going away for a bit," he said finally.  
  
The Slayer's brow furrowed.  
  
"Going away…" she said, almost to herself. "Where?"  
  
Spike smiled wistfully. "To London," he said. "There's something I need to look into."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Tonight. I'm catching the red-eye," he replied. "I've got a friend, and I use the term loosely, who set it up for me: IDs, tickets, hotel even. You'd be surprised at what one can do with a computer and a stolen credit card statement."  
  
Spike looked as if he was about say something more, but stopped. He started to reach for his cigarettes but ended up putting his hand on Buffy's knee. This time she let it stay.  
  
"I don't understand," she said. "What could you possibly need to do in London?"  
  
Spike hesitated. "Remember when you said my father looked like a Watcher?"  
  
She nodded, recalling having seen the man's portrait during their recent trip to the past.  
  
"I think you might've been onto something," he said. He went on to explain about the night he'd risen from the grave and how he'd encountered his father waiting for him with a wooden cross and stake. He told her that his father had almost killed him, but had let him escape at the last minute. He'd wondered how his father could've known that he would become a vampire. It got him thinking about his father's odd habits and about the fact that the older man had spent so much time at the bookstore he owned, even after closing hours.  
  
"Maybe it doesn't matter. I mean, it happened over a century ago…water under the bridge, you know. But it's been bothering me and I just want to learn the truth."  
  
"You could have been a Watcher," Buffy murmured.  
  
Spike nodded. "Yeah, I could have been one of the good guys."  
  
He smiled, but his eyes seemed sad.  
  
"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know…that I was going to be gone for a while."  
  
He paused and looked at her intently. "Not that you'd care, of course. Just thought…"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
Buffy looked up at him and frowned. She didn't want him to go.  
  
She reached up and touched his face. His skin was smooth and cool like polished stone. Her fingers moved to his mouth and she thought about the things he did to her with his lips and tongue. She looked into his eyes, hiding nothing.  
  
Seeing the Slayer's unspoken invitation, Spike leaned over and kissed her. His lips gently trailed down to her neck and lingered at her throat. With much restraint, he savored the soft warmth of her skin and the rhythmic pounding of her pulse.  
  
Feeling the demon awakening inside of him, he moved his attention away from her throat. Kissing her urgently, he pushed her down on the bed and covered her body with his. Skillful fingers explored the area hidden beneath her skirt, making her squirm and cry out. The Slayer's arms curled around his upper back and tightened.  
  
As they made love for the second time in less than a day, Spike relished the heat that only Buffy invoked in him. He closed his eyes and imagined the blood pumping through his veins and arteries and what it would be like to be alive again. The feeling was marred though, by the knowledge that when their lovemaking ended, he would be cold once more.  
  
* * *  
  
Several hours later, Buffy awoke to find herself alone in Spike's bed. She sat up and a chill ran through her as she realized that the vampire was probably on a plane to London by now. She wanted to be relieved that he was gone but instead felt--lost.  
  
She looked down at his pillow, seeing a single red rose and a folded note. She picked up the note and a plane ticket slipped out. Curious, she examined the ticket and discovered that it was a round trip ticket to London—in her name.  
  
She stared at the note, immediately noticing the delicate, elegant penmanship – William's writing. Quickly, she read the message.  
  
Buffy,  
  
I wanted to ask you tonight, but knew you'd say no. I've been holding this ticket for quite a while, waiting for the right moment. It didn't come. Anyway, I just remembered how happy you looked when you were in London—during our little trip to the past. The whole Watcher thing was just an afterthought. This is for you in case you decide you need to escape for a bit. The itinerary has the name of my hotel and the number where you can reach me.  
  
Yours always,  
  
Spike  
  
Buffy picked up the rose and inhaled its faintly sweet scent. The flower was slightly wilted and the petals had started to blacken around the edges. She imagined the vampire stealing it from a grave just after a funeral and couldn't help but smile.  
  
'God,' she thought, 'for an evil, dead guy, he actually is kind of sweet.'  
  
Lips still curved upward, she lay back down on the bed and closed her eyes. 


	3. Something About Buffy

Chapter 3 – Something About Buffy  
  
  
  
Spike glanced at the sunlight filtering through the trees. The narrow rays touched his face—they felt warm but didn't burn. He looked at Buffy, held tightly in his arms. She smiled at him, then slowly broke free of his embrace.  
  
Taking his hand, she led him through the forest. He heard the faint gurgle of a stream somewhere close and soon spotted the source of the sound—an opening in the woods up ahead. But upon reaching the clearing, Spike held back, afraid to leave the shade. He let go of the Slayer's hand as she continued on without pausing.  
  
She turned and beckoned for him to join her. "Spike, don't you want us to be together?" she asked, sounding strangely far away.  
  
"You know I do," he whispered in response. He gazed at her and his eyes grew wide—she appeared to be glowing in the bright daylight. She looked almost like an angel.  
  
Hesitantly, he walked up to her and pulled her close. He bent down and gently kissed her. Buffy encircled him in a tight embrace—he couldn't move. He felt a sudden pain as the sunlight began to burn his skin. Shocked, he looked at the girl in his arms who merely smiled up at him.  
  
"Slayer," he said sounding incredulous. "I think you've finally killed me."  
  
Spike awoke with a start. "Bloody hell," he cursed, staring at his smoking hand.  
  
Although he was sitting in an aisle seat, rays of direct sunlight had reached him through the nearest window. Spike quickly moved away from the light and rubbed his burned skin. He warily glanced around the Boeing 757 to see if anyone had noticed.  
  
A six-year old girl was staring at him, wide eyed. Spike scowled.  
  
"What're you looking at, kid?" he asked.  
  
The little girl's eyes remained wide and she swallowed hard before speaking. "Mr…." She gulped. "Are you a vam-pie-yer?"  
  
Spike sneered. "How do you know about vampires?"  
  
"From T.V."  
  
"Oh, you mean like 'the Count' from Sesame Street."  
  
The little girl giggled. "The Count!? He's not real! Duh."  
  
"Duh?" Spike frowned.  
  
"Hey, can you do that thing with your face?"  
  
"How do you know about that?" Spike's eyes narrowed.  
  
The little girl shrugged. "My Mom watches 'Bitsy the Vampire Killer.'"  
  
Spike glanced at the sleeping woman seated next to the child. "She does, huh?"  
  
"Yeah. So can you do it?" The girl asked, looking excited.  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "All right. But you have stop yapping about it." He glanced around to make sure no one was looking then theatrically closed his eyes and pretended to concentrate, pressing his fingers to his temples. Almost immediately, his human features were replaced with the evil visage of his demon side. For effect, he sneered menacingly at the child before quickly changing back.  
  
The girl's eyes got even wider. "Kewwl!" she said, obviously impressed.  
  
She moved over to the empty seat next to his. "Hey, do you know any good stories?"  
  
"Aren't you scared of me?" Spike said, trying to sound sinister.  
  
"Nah, you seem like a nice vam-pie-yer. I can tell."  
  
"Yeah, well…I guess I am," he said resignedly.  
  
Spike looked down at her and shrugged. "Actually, there is this one story I know about a girl, a little younger than you, who was hiding in a coal bin…"  
  
* * *  
  
On her way home from a particularly rousing women's studies class at U.C. Sunnydale, Willow decided to stop by the Magic Box and say "hi" to her friends. She arrived about five minutes after closing and found the store empty except for the owner and her fiance.  
  
"Hey guys," she said, glancing first at Xander, seated at the research table and then Anya, who was busy closing out the cash register.  
  
"Damn! I'm still off by thirteen cents!" the ex-demon said, frowning. She started to recount the pennies.  
  
"Uh, honey. I think you can give it up now." Xander commented, looking at his fiscally obsessed bride-to-be with growing impatience. "You've counted it like, what, five times already?"  
  
"Actually, six…but I'm short!" Anya replied, sounding exasperated. "That means that someone must've walked off with my thirteen cents!"  
  
"Oh, I've got some spare change," Willow offered, reaching into her purse to find some coins. She counted out exactly thirteen cents.  
  
"Here you go," the Wiccan said, handing over the coins. "If this will buy you some peace of mind, then I say money well spent!" She then walked over to the research table and sat down next to Xander.  
  
Anya looked at the change in her hand a little doubtfully, then shrugged and put it in the cash register. She then pulled out the money from the day's sales, put it in a zippered pouch and headed for the back of the store to the safe.  
  
Willow smiled at Xander. "So…what's up?" she asked, her tone light.  
  
"There's something going on that we really need to talk about," Xander said, sounding serious.  
  
"What do you mean?" Willow shrugged. "If it's about my magic, I've been totally not doing any. I've got everything under—"  
  
"It's not about you," Xander said, cutting her off. "It's something about Buffy."  
  
"Buffy?" Willow asked, sounding surprised. "Is she okay?"  
  
Xander shook his head, "I'm thinking the answer to that would be no," he said, then paused. "Have you noticed anything unusual about Buffy lately? Like her keeping weird hours…or being kind of top secret about things?"  
  
"No," Willow answered, her brow furrowed. "I mean she's the Slayer – her hours are always kind of weird, you know? And as for the secretive part…I don't know. I mean she's been kind of distant ever since we brought her back, but I think she's getting better. It just takes time."  
  
"Well…" Xander began. He paused and looked up as Anya entered the room. She sat down next to him and patted his hand.  
  
The ex-demon leaned forward and looked Willow straight in the eye. "What Xander's trying to say," she said in her usual no-nonsense manner, "is that Buffy and Spike have been…" She made a circle with the fingers of her left hand and stuck her right index finger through it repeatedly.  
  
Willow eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She was speechless for a moment. "What?" she gasped.  
  
"Yeah," Anya continued matter-of-factly. "They were having intercourse. I'm sure of it."  
  
"Huh?" Willow still looked confused.  
  
"It was yesterday…in the training room." Anya shrugged. "She said they were sparring. Yeah, right! I heard them…thumping!" She banged her palm against the tabletop repeatedly. "Thump, thump, thump, thump—"  
  
"Okay! I get the picture!" Willow said, raising her hand for Anya to stop.  
  
But the ex-demon wasn't done yet. "And she kept screaming…again and again!" she continued.  
  
"He made her scream?" Xander said, sounding concerned. "You didn't tell me she screamed! Was he hurting her?"  
  
"No!" Anya replied, looking at her fiance as if he were mentally challenged. "It wasn't that sort of scream. It was more like a…you know, a 'Yes! Yes! Yes!' kind of scream, except it was nonverbal."  
  
"Oh." A look of understanding crossed Xander's face.  
  
"I can't believe it," Willow said, shaking her head. "I mean, what could she be thinking?"  
  
"Well, she's obviously not…thinking…with her head, anyway," Xander said angrily.  
  
"Yeah, she's thinking with her…" Anya frowned, searching for the correct word.  
  
Her fiance then scowled. "I think I know the word you're looking for," he said. "You know, female body part…rhymes with Delores."  
  
"Oh my God!" Willow said, stunned. "We've got to do something!" 


	4. Kiss and Tell

Chapter 4 – Kiss and Tell  
  
  
  
It was a slow night at the Sunnydale cemetery. Buffy had only come across one vamp—a newly-risen banker who'd barely lasted two seconds before turning to dust--hardly a challenge.  
  
Sighing, the Slayer continued walking among the gravestones, absently swinging her arms like a little girl. Her heart just wasn't in it tonight. Although she hated to admit it, she missed Spike. The vampire had accompanied her on patrols almost every night since her resurrection and it was just too quiet without him.  
  
She missed his cynical humor, his 'big bad' attitude, and even his overzealous approach to killing demons. He almost made slaying seem fun.  
  
But it wasn't just that, and she knew it. Besides the obvious physical attraction, she missed other things about him as well. Like the way he looked at her so many different ways—with admiration, wistfulness, lust, longing, and sometimes something she thought looked like love. But it couldn't be that. She knew it just couldn't.  
  
And now he was gone. And that was good. He was thousands of miles away. He couldn't touch her. And that was good—right?  
  
She frowned. Somehow, it didn't feel that way.  
  
She thought about the ticket to London, lying on top of her dresser at home. She'd stared at it for a long time the previous night, wondering what it would be like to go. If only…  
  
But she knew she couldn't go. Spike was evil. She had to remind herself of that.  
  
Being with Spike was wrong. What they did together was wrong. If her friends ever found out—she couldn't bear the thought of having to face them. They'd never understand. How could they?  
  
Sighing again, Buffy decided to go home. It was late and he was tired.  
  
And although Spike was far away, she knew, he'd never been closer.  
  
* * *  
  
After several tries, the exhausted vampire finally managed to open the door to his room. He put the card key in the pocket of his leather duster and threw his duffel on the comfortable-looking chair next to the window. Glancing around his posh surroundings, he thought to himself that Buffy would've approved. The hotel dated back to the Victorian era and was beautifully furnished in a style that matched the period. He reflected that it was a bit like visiting the past again.  
  
Spike took off his coat and hung it in the wardrobe. He then emptied the hotel's mini-refrigerator and replaced its contents with the blood packets, labeled as tomato juice, that he'd successfully smuggled through airport security. He'd only brought a half dozen pouches and planned to check out the local scene the following evening to get more. He remembered that he hadn't put up the "do not disturb" sign and went to the door to take care of it.  
  
Although too tired to unpack, Spike went through his duffel again, pulling out a picture of Buffy that he'd taken from her basement almost a year before. He smiled as he looked at the girlish image in the school photo.  
  
"Good night, luv," he said, carefully propping it up on the bedside table. The weary traveler then lay down and turned off the light. He fell asleep almost instantly.  
  
* * *  
  
It was after eleven o'clock by the time Buffy arrived home. She was surprised to see that most of the lights in the house were still on. As she fumbled with her keys, she could hear Xander and Anya talking in the living room. They were speaking in lowered voices with urgent undertones.  
  
When she finally swung the door open and stepped into the foyer, three somber faces stared up at her. There was an uncomfortable silence before she spoke.  
  
"What's going on? Is there something wrong?" she asked, gazing went from Willow, to Xander and finally to Anya. She immediately thought of her teenage sister who had been continuously getting into trouble lately.  
  
"Is Dawn okay?" she asked, a note of panic in her voice. "Where's Dawn?"  
  
Willow spoke first. "Dawn's fine. She's upstairs."  
  
Buffy frowned. "Then what's going on? Why all the gloomy faces?"  
  
Xander nodded to Willow, who then nervously cleared her throat. "We're concerned about you Buffy," she said.  
  
The Slayer smiled nervously. "I'm fine. I don't—"  
  
"Buff, we know about you and Spike," Xander interrupted.  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Me and Spike?" She glared at Anya before turning to Xander. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
The ex-demon spoke up. "I'm not stupid, you know. I could tell what you and Spike were doing yesterday in the training room."  
  
"We were sparring – that's all," the Slayer said, her voice rising a pitch.  
  
"You were having sex!" Anya replied, testily. "You were thumping…and screaming…and he was half naked!"  
  
"Anya…" Xander began, putting a cautioning hand on his fiancée's shoulder.  
  
Buffy opened her mouth to say something but Willow spoke first. "Buffy, we're your friends. We want to help you, but you have to be honest with us."  
  
Buffy looked uncertainly at her three friends. "Suppose it's true," she said softly. "Suppose that Spike and I are…" She bit her bottom lip. "I'm an adult and what I do in my private life is just that – private."  
  
"Buff, like Willow said, we're your friends and we care about you," Xander said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Spike's bad news – always has been, always will be. You, of all people, should know that."  
  
He shook his head. "I don't know what's going on with you, Buffy," he continued. "I mean, I'm guessing it has something to do with the whole resurrection thing. I know it can't be easy for you. And maybe it seems like none of us have been here for you, lately…but we are. We're your friends – always will be."  
  
Buffy paused before speaking. "I understand you guys are trying to help…and I appreciate that," she said. "This whole thing with Spike—I can't explain it myself. I mean, I've been fighting this for a really long time. It's no use—I'm just drawn to him, like that whole moth-to-flame thing. I know it's wrong, but…"  
  
"Buffy, you're not in love with him, are you?" Willow asked, her brow furrowed.  
  
"No," Buffy responded immediately, then frowned and shook her head. "I don't know. Spike and I have this connection. Maybe it's always been there. Even when he was evil and we were trying to kill each other—he's always seemed to understand me. He just gets me somehow."  
  
"He's still evil, Buffy," Willow said quietly. "That chip in his head—you know it doesn't make him good. If it were to ever stop working, he'd be right back to his old tricks. And where would that leave you? It'd be like Angel becoming Angelus all over again. You'd have to kill him."  
  
"Buffy, you need to end this now," Xander added gravely. "The longer it goes on, the harder it's going to be."  
  
The Slayer nodded almost imperceptibly as she made a decision. "I think I've finally figured out what I have to do," she said.  
  
Willow attempted a smile. "Good. I knew you would."  
  
Buffy glanced around the room. "I need to got to London--to be with Spike," she said, sounding very determined. "So I can get him out of my system."  
  
Willow's mouth hung open and she glanced at Xander. "London? Buffy…that wasn't exactly the plan we had in mind. Actually, we were thinking, uh, avoidance--"  
  
"It's the only way," the Slayer replied firmly. "I've already tried the whole avoidance thing and it doesn't work. I can't fight this anymore. I need to face this—and see it through."  
  
"But, Buffy—" Willow protested.  
  
"Spike once told me that he was 'in my system'," the Slayer continued, ignoring her friend. "He said that I would 'crave him like he craves blood' and he was right." She shook her head. "He's always so annoyingly right!"  
  
"But Buff, what do you think you're going to do?" Xander asked, "You can't just go over there to…"  
  
Buffy gave Xander a cold stare. "I'm going to do what I have to…to get him out of my system," she replied quietly. "Spike's in London. He left last night. That's where I need to be."  
  
"But, you just can't—" Willow began.  
  
Buffy sighed. "Since he left, it's like he's all I think about. I thought that I'd be better off with him gone—you know, 'out of sight, out of mind'? But, it's not like that…not at all. You guys just have to trust me. I may not be sure of what I'm doing but I think, in this case, I have to go with my instincts."  
  
Willow frowned. "But what about Dawn? You just can't leave her."  
  
"I need to talk to her. I think she'll understand." She turned to Willow. "But I'm going to need your help…taking care of Dawn while I'm gone. If you're really my friends, you'll do this for me."  
  
Anya shook her head and frowned. "It'll never work," she muttered. "I mean, it's kind of like what I tried to do with Xander in the beginning. I thought I would just have sex with him that one time. But then one time led to another…and another…and another..." She glanced at her fiancée. "And now look at us!" 


	5. London

Chapter 5 - London  
  
  
  
On his second night in London, Spike wandered the city's seedier parts until he reached a bar he'd frequented in the past. He looked up at a weathered sign that read "The Hellhound Pub." It hung from rusty hinges and showed the image of a menacing black dog with red eyes that actually glowed.  
  
Spike pressed his face against the bar's plate glass window, but couldn't see anything through the excessive grime.  
  
"My kind of place," he muttered as he pushed open the heavy wooden door and entered the pub.  
  
He looked around the run-down establishment and saw that it was practically deserted. Several shady-looking characters sat up at the bar while a few others were seated at tables near the back.  
  
Spike headed for the bar and seated himself next to a stout vampire with dark brown hair, cropped short like Julius Caesar. The stocky vampire turned toward the newcomer and grunted.  
  
Spike acknowledged the demon, then focused his attention on a surly- looking human standing on the other side of the counter. "Barkeep!" he said, feeling impatient for a drink.  
  
The bartender turned to Spike. "What'll it be, mate?" he growled.  
  
"Scotch, neat," the vampire replied, reaching for his wallet. He pulled out a ten as the bartender slammed his drink on the counter top. The man scowled as he looked at Spike's American currency.  
  
"That money's no good here," the liquor server barked. "You're in England now."  
  
"Well, it's all I got," Spike explained. He was cursing himself for not having exchanged some of his American currency earlier.  
  
The bartender started to pull the drink away, but the stocky vampire seated next to Spike stopped him. "This one's on me," the bloodsucker said, sliding some money to the barkeep. He then turned to Spike and grinned, showing off two rows of very bad teeth.  
  
Although repulsed by the stench of the vamp's breath, Spike smiled back, keeping his composure. He lifted his drink and nodded at the generous stranger. "Thanks. I owe you one," he said.  
  
The stranger nodded back. "Name's Eddie," he said and took a long swig from his mug.  
  
"Spike," the Sunnydale resident responded.  
  
Eddie's face suddenly contorted into what looked like rage. "Spike?" he bellowed. Spike leaned away apprehensively, fearful that his reputation as a demon-killer had preceded him.  
  
"THE Spike?" Eddie continued. "Also known as 'William the Bloody'?" A wide grin spread over his boorish face.  
  
"Uh, yeah, that's right," Spike responded hesitantly.  
  
"Why, you're a bleedin' legend in these parts!" Eddie laughed robustly and slammed Spike on the back with his open palm. "I can't believe me luck! Sittin' next to the famous Spike!"  
  
Spike was speechless. He opened his mouth to say something but Eddie cut him off.  
  
"Is it true, mate? What they say 'bout you?" Eddie's eyebrows shot up, almost reaching his short-cropped bangs. "They say you're a fearless bloke. Not 'fraid of anythin' – even the Slayer! Say you came face to face with two of 'em and killed 'em both." Spike's new friend leaned in closer and looked him in the eye. "So tell me, is it true?"  
  
Spike smiled and pulled out a cigarette. "Yeah, it's true."  
  
Eddie's beady eyes widened. "Whoa! How'd ya do it?" he asked. "D'ya 'ave time to humor an old bloke like me with a story or two?"  
  
Spike took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled a stream of smoke, hoping to overpower some of the stench of Eddie's breath. "Yeah, sure," he said, smiling at his awestruck companion. He thought to himself that he was becoming quite the storyteller. "I've got lots of time…"  
  
* * *  
  
"Last call, mates!" the bartender announced, glowering at the two vampires seated at the bar. They were the pub's only remaining patrons.  
  
Spike glanced at his watch. "Look at the time!" he said, smiling over at his new-found friend. "I appreciate your spotting me for drinks tonight. I promise to pay you back as soon as I get some of my money changed."  
  
Eddie waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, no! It's on me tonight!" he said. "It's been quite an honor just meetin' ya!"  
  
"Well, then I'm treating next time, okay?"  
  
Eddie chortled and thumped Spike hard on the back. "It's a bloody deal, mate!" he replied.  
  
"By the way," Spike said, suddenly remembering the reason he'd come into the bar in the first place, "I need to find out where a bloke can get some blood around here…when not feasting on the locals, that is. Any suggestions?"  
  
"Ah, I see you're not only a brave chap but also a smart one," Eddie said, tapping his index finger to his temple. "Me…I've almost given up feedin' on humans. 'aven't killed a man in quite a while. It's too dangerous 'ere, with the Watchers' Council and all. If they see our numbers are gettin' too large…too many people gettin' killed or disappearin'…they'll send for the Slayer, they will."  
  
"Is that right?" Spike asked.  
  
Eddie nodded. "Yeah. And I hear she's a tough one, the Slayer… I met this one bloke, a while back, who had a run-in with her and barely escaped." He leaned forward and leered. "He said she was quite a looker too."  
  
"Eh, she's okay," Spike admitted grudgingly. "If you go for the type. You know, bouncy blond hair, a bit on the thin side…"  
  
"So, you've seen her…and lived to tell about it."  
  
"Yeah, the Slayer and I have an understanding," Spike explained smugly. "She lets me do as I please, and I don't kill her. But she's a fixture in Sunnydale, as far as I know. They don't like her straying from the Hellmouth much."  
  
"Yeah well, lately we've 'ad some problems here in London with certain bands of young 'ens…too wild, these ones," Eddie said grimly, "There's been some talk that the Council might send for the Slayer to thin the herd a bit." He shrugged. "Hopefully, it's just talk."  
  
"I'm sure that's the case," Spike said. He noticed the bartender glaring at them and cleared his throat. "Now, about the blood…"  
  
"Yeah, sure, mate," Eddie replied. "There's this butcher shop a couple of blocks east of here. A human named Nate runs it. He caters to us vamps. Got the best selection in London; pig's blood, cow's blood, human even."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah, he gets people off the street to sell blood--pays 'em cash. Human blood's kinda pricey though. And I'd steer clear of cow's blood, with the whole 'mad cow' thing goin' on. Wouldn't want your brain turnin' into Swiss cheese, now would we?" Eddie said, winking.  
  
Spike frowned. "Can vampires get that?"  
  
"Don't know, mate. But I wouldn't want to find out the hard way," Eddie replied, shrugging.  
  
He and Eddie finished off their drinks and headed out the door.  
  
"It's been a real pleasure Spike!" Eddie said, giving the duster-clad vampire a thump on the back. "Hope to be runnin' into ya real soon!"  
  
"Yeah, likewise," Spike replied. The two demons said goodnight to each other and went in opposite directions.  
  
* * *  
  
Spike smiled as he walked away from the pub. It was the first time in a while that he'd been able to enter a demon bar without having someone threaten his life. His alliance with the Slayer had made him very unpopular with the evil crowd in Sunnydale.  
  
He rounded a corner and nearly collided with three strangers.  
  
"Watch where you're going, you bloody moron!" a leather-clad vampire said, scowling.  
  
Spike glanced at the trio. There were two young-looking vampires—probably some of the wild types Eddie had mentioned. Sandwiched between them was a young boy who appeared no more than twelve years old. The child looked scared, but was unharmed, as far as Spike could tell. 'Walk away, Spike,' he told himself.  
  
The boy looked up at him. "Please…Sir," he said, his voice trembling.  
  
His two captors laughed and pushed the boy forward. "You'll get no help from him," the one dressed in leather said. "'Cept maybe a quicker death." They laughed again.  
  
Spike glared at the twosome and walked past them. 'Keep moving Spike,' he told himself. After taking several more steps, he stopped. 'Don't do it!' He turned around. 'Don't--' He cleared his throat loudly.  
  
"You two!" he heard himself say. "Let the boy go."  
  
The vampires spun around and stared at him defiantly. "Sod off! This one's ours!" Leather said.  
  
Looking annoyed, Spike exhaled impatiently. "I said, Let. Him. Go."  
  
"No bleedin' way!" Leather spat back. He took a couple of steps toward Spike and cocked his chin defiantly. "Back off now and I'll let you live."  
  
"Oh, is that right?" Spike sneered. He lunged forward, grabbed Leather by the throat and threw him into the street.  
  
The vampire quickly sprung to his feet and charged at Spike, pushing him to the ground. The two wrestled for less than a minute before one of them turned to ashes. The surviving demon stood up and brushed the soot from his duster. He looked over at Leather's friend and smirked.  
  
The friend shoved the boy out of his way and took off running. Spike easily chased him down and staked him before he'd made it to the corner. He then headed back to where the child was standing, shaken but unhurt.  
  
"You okay, kid?" Spike asked. The boy stared at him with wide eyes. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you."  
  
Spike surveyed his surroundings for any other Big Bads that might be lurking around and might have witnessed his uncharacteristically heroic act. The block was deserted except for a lone figure standing under a lamppost across the street. He squinted at the individual—a girl with long dark hair, dressed in a black coat. Her face was small and familiar. Spike shook his head.  
  
'It couldn't be,' he thought.  
  
"Sir?" the boy said, tugging on Spike's sleeve.  
  
The vampire glanced down at him. "Just a minute kid," he said. He looked back to where the girl had stood a moment before…but she wasn't there. He scanned the neighboring area for any indication of where she had gone, but there was no sign of her.  
  
Spike frowned and turned back to the child. "Let's get you to someplace safe," he said, putting a protective arm around the boy's shoulders. He then took the child to a less demon-infested part of town. 


	6. A Game of Chess

Chapter 6 – A Game of Chess  
  
  
  
Dawn was in a rush. As was the case almost every morning, she was running late. She scurried around her room, looking for her hairbrush.  
  
'Where is it?' she wondered. She recalled brushing her hair while she was on the phone, sitting on the bed, eating a snack… She seemed to brush her hair a lot. But at the moment, the darned thing was missing.  
  
'Maybe I don't need it,' she thought and hastily combed her fingers through her long brown tresses. But there were way too many tangles.  
  
She glanced in the mirror. 'Damn!' Her hair was such a mess!  
  
She started to hunt around for the brush again. She knew that Xander was coming to pick her up soon. Like a big brother, he'd already lectured her many times about being late. She was getting pretty tired of it.  
  
She stepped on something bristly. The missing brush! 'Phew!' She picked it up and began brushing her hair like a mad woman. Being so engrossed in her grooming efforts, she failed to see her sister standing in the doorway.  
  
"Dawn," Buffy said, walking into the room.  
  
The younger Summers girl quickly looked up. "Don't you ever knock?" she asked irritably.  
  
Buffy ignored the snappish tone in her sister's voice and sat on the bed. "We need to talk," she said, looking serious.  
  
Dawn was having a tough time with a particularly stubborn snarl. "Can't we do it later?" she said. "I mean, Xander's gonna kill me if I'm late again!"  
  
"This shouldn't take long," Buffy replied. "And besides, I won't be around when you get back from school." She paused and took a deep breath. "I'm leaving for London this afternoon"  
  
Dawn put down the hairbrush and turned to her sister. "Are you visiting Giles?" she asked. "Why so sudden?"  
  
"No, I'm not visiting Giles," Buffy responded, her brow furrowed. "Although, I guess I probably should…stop by and say 'hi'. I mean, it would be—"  
  
"Why then?" Dawn interrupted.  
  
"It's complicated and I don't expect you to understand." The Slayer paused. "But I'm going to see Spike."  
  
Dawn frowned. "Spike? When did he go to London?"  
  
"The other night. He wanted me to go with him, but--"  
  
Dawn's eyes widened and she broke into a smile. "Oh my God, Buffy! You mean, you and Spike?! I can't believe you've finally—"  
  
"It's not what you're thinking," Buffy said uncomfortably.  
  
Dawn frowned again. "What do you mean? I don't get it."  
  
"Well, it's kind of…what you're thinking…but not really."  
  
"Now, I really don't get it."  
  
"This is kind of hard to explain," Buffy said, looking down at her hands. "I, uh…Spike and I… Well, we kind of have this, uh, thing going on. I wouldn't really call it a relationship. But whatever it is, I have to confront it and see it through…so I can end it."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Dawn asked.  
  
"I need to get over him—" Buffy began.  
  
Dawn's eyes narrowed. "When were you under him?!" she asked.  
  
"I don't really want to get into this. You're way to young to un—"  
  
"I may be young, but I'm not stupid," Dawn snapped. "I think I know what's going on here." Her eyes flared with anger. "You know he's totally in love with you…and you just treat him like scum! It's not right! It sounds like you're planning to go there just so you can--"  
  
"Dawn," Buffy said, sounding urgent. "He's a vampire. How am I supposed—"  
  
"He may be a vampire, but you didn't see how…when you were dead. He took care of me, comforted me, even though he was like majorly heartbroken himself. It was really hard for him, but he held it together, because of the promise he made to you!" Dawn glared at her sister.  
  
The Slayer bit her bottom lip. "It's not like I want to hurt him," she said quietly. "But any feelings that I may have for Spike…are wrong, and it's not love. You know Spike doesn't have a soul."  
  
Dawn shook her head. "And what's the big deal about having a soul, anyway?" she asked. "I mean there are tons of people out there with souls, who are like incredibly evil. You know, Osama bin What's His Name, Saddam Whoever? I think you're putting way too much weight into this soul thing!"  
  
"Dawn—"  
  
"Can't you see? Spike wants to be good! He's changed…for you! But you just keep treating him like he's still evil…like that's all he'll ever be. You never give him a chance."  
  
"Dawn, he is still evil," Buffy insisted. "The only reason—"  
  
"Well, if you keep treating him like that, he really will be evil. It's like, you know, that whole Pygmalion effect thing. You treat him like he's good – so he really believes it and becomes good. You treat him like he's bad and well…" Dawn threw her hands up in disgust. She grabbed her backpack and headed out the door.  
  
"I'm so out of here," the younger Summers girl said. "You so don't deserve him, Buffy!"  
  
* * *  
  
Hours later, in another time zone, Spike stepped into his hotel room carrying a paper bag filled with containers of blood. Eddie had been right about the butcher shop, it did have a very good selection. He opened one of the containers and began to drink. He had splurged on the expensive stuff, but it was well worth it. He finished the container and stored the rest of his supply in the mini-refrigerator.  
  
He glanced at his watch--it was still early in the evening. Time to visit Giles. The Watcher lived on the other side of London, so Spike rung the concierge and had him call for a cab. He then took the elevator downstairs, strode through the plush lobby and went outside where he could smoke.  
  
Spike leaned against the brick exterior of the historic hotel and lit a cigarette. He scanned the immediate area and noted a number of expensive- looking cars in the circular driveway in front of the building.  
  
A large, black Mercedes with dark tinted windows caught his attention. It was illegally parked across the street. The rear window opened halfway and he could see the outline of woman illuminated by the car's dim interior light. She appeared to be staring at him. Spike squinted at the mysterious stranger, but her face was obscured in shadow.  
  
Just as he was about to investigate the suspicious-looking automobile, his taxi arrived. The bellman called to Spike and gestured to the approaching cab. The vampire turned his attention to the bellman and handed him a tip before getting into the taxi. He stared back at the Mercedes as his taxi pulled out of the driveway. Seconds later the Mercedes' engine started and the car headed after Spike's cab.  
  
* * *  
  
When he arrived at Giles' address, Spike mused that the brick apartment building perfectly mirrored the Watcher's personality--old and rather stuffy. Smirking, he walked up the front steps to the sheltered entry. He scanned the list of residents then keyed in the three digits hand-written next to "Giles, R." Fidgeting impatiently, he waited until the Watcher's voice came on.  
  
"Yes, hello?" said the former librarian.  
  
"Giles, it's Spike," the vampire said, feeling a bit uncomfortable talking into the intercom.  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"It's Spike!" he said, a little louder the second time.  
  
"Spike? Oh, good God!" There was a long silence.  
  
"Well," Spike said, irritated. "Are you going to let me in or what?"  
  
"Yes…yes," said the distracted sounding voice. There was a long buzz and a click.  
  
Spike opened the building door and made his way up to Giles' second floor apartment where the Watcher was waiting.  
  
"Hello Rupert," the vampire said, grinning. He stood in front of his would be host and waited for an invitation.  
  
Looking befuddled, Giles stepped aside and let in his first visitor from Sunnydale into his home.  
  
Spike entered the apartment and looked around. "Nice digs," he commented, eyeing the stacks of books on the floor and the boxes scattered around the room.  
  
Giles shut the door and absently scratched his head. "Yes, well…I still haven't gotten a chance to finish unpacking everything yet," he said, glancing around at the clutter. "This apartment is quite a bit smaller than my old place. Although the rent is about double what it used to be."  
  
The vampire headed straight for the Watcher's worn-looking sofa and plopped down on it. He casually propped his feet up on the coffee table, accidentally knocking over some pieces from a chess set that had been set up there.  
  
"Yes, that's it," Giles muttered. "Just make yourself at home,"  
  
Spike reached over and put the chess pieces back in their places. "So, I see you've been playing chess," he commented. "By yourself?"  
  
"What?" Giles glanced at the chess set. "Yes, I've been studying the game. Some of the chaps at work like to get together and play on Saturdays."  
  
"Sounds like uh…fun." Spike smirked.  
  
Giles cleared his throat. "I'm afraid, I'm in a bit of a quandary here," he said. "Although, I'm positively thrilled that you're many thousands of miles away from Buffy—"  
  
Spike frowned. "What do you know about the Slayer and me?"  
  
"Enough. I got a call, from Willow, the day before yesterday—very early," Giles replied. "She told me that you've apparently set your sights on Buffy again. They were going to talk to her that night."  
  
Spike shrugged. "Right. Well Buffy's a big girl. She can—"  
  
"As I was saying, although I'm happy that you're away from Buffy," Giles continued. "I'm a bit disconcerted by your presence…in my flat, and I find myself wondering why you're here."  
  
"Well, actually I need your help…to get some information."  
  
"What sort of information?"  
  
"About my Father," Spike said. "I know it was a long time ago, but I believe he may have been a Watcher." He went on to explain his suspicions about his Father to Giles.  
  
Giles removed his glasses, absently cleaning them as he pondered Spike's story.  
  
"I'm afraid that sort of information would be in storage…down in the headquarters basement, lovingly referred to as 'the Dungeon'," the Watcher said, putting his glasses back on. "It'd be risky for us to go there and I don't think that it would be worth chancing it."  
  
"C'mon Giles. When have I ever asked you for anything?"  
  
The Watcher sighed and shook his head. "Spike, I'm just not inclined to help you."  
  
The vampire glanced at Giles' chess set and got an idea. "How about a wager then?" he proposed.  
  
"A wager?"  
  
"Yeah, I'll challenge you to a game of chess. If I win, we go to the Dungeon. If you win, I stay away from Buffy…for good."  
  
"You would do that?" Giles asked doubtfully.  
  
"Yeah, I'm a man of my word," Spike said with a sly smile. "Always have been."  
  
"I don't know," the Watcher said, his brow furrowed.  
  
"C'mon Giles. I haven't played chess in over a hundred and twenty years!" Spike insisted. "And on top of that, whenever I did play, I always got beat by my kid sister!"  
  
"Hmmmm." Giles thoughtfully adjusted his glasses. "Is that right?"  
  
"You're not scared, are you?" Spike taunted. "Afraid that I might beat you?"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
  
The vampire's lips curled upward. "Well let's play then," he said, leaning forward on the sofa. "I'll take black."  
  
* * *  
  
Less than an hour later, Giles stared at the board, perplexed. He unconsciously rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger.  
  
Spike stared triumphantly at the Watcher. "I believe that's check and mate!" He said, grinning.  
  
Giles shook his head. "I don't understand it," he said, exasperated. "You said you hadn't played in over a century and that you always lost to your little sister."  
  
Spike shrugged. "Well, I guess chess is something you never forget…like riding a bike. And about my sis…she was a very bright girl. Brains sort of run in my family, you know. " He smirked. "But, Emily was particularly bright. She actually had a photographic memory."  
  
"Oh." Giles frowned.  
  
"So, get your coat Rupert," Spike said, rising. "We're going to the Dungeon."  
  
Reluctantly, Giles got up and grabbed his coat off the rack. The two were on their way out when the phone rang. Giles quickly walked over to the kitchen to answer it. "Giles here," he said.  
  
"What?  
  
"Is that right?  
  
"Oh my Lord.  
  
"Yes. Yes.  
  
"I…I guess I'll see you in the morning then." He hung up and walked back to where Spike was waiting.  
  
"So what was that all about?" Spike asked, noting that Giles' appeared worried.  
  
"Yes, well…that was the Council," the Watcher said, looking as if he'd just eaten something that didn't quite agree with him. "Apparently, they've decided to reinstate Faith as a Slayer. Feel she's been fully reha—"  
  
"That psycho bitch?!" Spike shook his head. "Thought she was in prison? And didn't the Council order her dead?"  
  
"Yes, well, I don't know all the details yet, but apparently she's in London. I'm meeting with them in the morning."  
  
"Bloody Hell!" Spike muttered.  
  
"My thoughts exactly," Giles said grimly. He turned to the door. "Well, we better get going, as I have a very early meeting tomorrow." 


	7. The Dungeon

Chapter 7 – The Dungeon  
  
  
  
It was going to be close. Very close! Buffy sprinted to the gate, expertly maneuvering around slower moving travelers. Gracefully, she leaped over a toddler who sullenly sat in the middle of the walkway sucking his thumb.  
  
The Slayer had barely made it to the airport a half-hour before the departure time—much less than the recommended two hours prior. There'd been a long line to check in and she was told that it was going to be a very full flight.  
  
Earlier that day she'd changed her mind about going to London several times. She'd started packing. Then stopped. Then started unpacking. Then stopped. Then started packing… And finally, after she'd resolved to go, she'd been unable to fit everything she'd wanted to bring in her suitcase.  
  
'Story of my life,' she'd thought, 'nothing fits.' Well, she hoped to rid herself of a certain piece of 'excess baggage' very soon.  
  
She rushed to the gate and found that they'd already announced the last boarding call. Breathless, she marched up to the jet way and handed her ticket to the airline worker who in turn gave her back the stub. She glanced down at it, reading "32F".  
  
On the packed plane, she passed row after row, until finally reaching her assigned seat—not an aisle, or a window, but a dreaded middle.  
  
'Can you get any more crappy?'  
  
She put down her heavy carry-on and opened the overhead compartment. Buffy's eyes narrowed. It was already full but…  
  
'Just have to MAKE it fit!' Gritting her teeth, she proceeded to stuff her bag into the already tight space.  
  
'One, two, three…' With a Slayer-strength push and an audible grunt, she slammed the compartment door shut, causing several passengers to look in her direction.  
  
Buffy glanced at the onlookers, flashed an embarrassed smile and squeezed down into her seat.  
  
Finally she could relax! It was just too bad that her magazine and paperback novel were both in the carry-on she'd just stuffed into the overhead.  
  
'No problem.' She eyed the pocket on the seat in front of her. 'Lots of stuff to read right here!'  
  
Rifling through the pouch's contents, she noted a variety of airline necessities:  
  
There were the air safety instructions. 'Not interested. Danger is my life,' she thought with a smirk.  
  
A white paper bag that she curiously opened, finding a bumpy wad of pink gum. 'Ewww.'  
  
There was the airline travel magazine. 'May have to come back to it later, if I get really desperate.'  
  
Finally, she saw the "Air Mall" catalog. 'Oooh. Shopping.'  
  
As she thumbed through the catalog, Buffy couldn't help but wonder who actually bought the stuff. The items were mostly cheesy, but something eventually caught her attention--a clip-on reading lamp. She recalled how poor the lighting was in Spike's crypt and how the vampire loved to read. She earmarked the page.  
  
'Wait a minute! What are you—his girlfriend now? Buying him presents?'  
  
She unfolded the corner and angrily turned the page. The next thing she found was a massage mat. You could either lie on it, if you placed it on the floor, or sit on it, if you placed it on a chair. She thought that it might be nice to have. After a tough night of slayage, her muscles sometimes ached. Of course, it was so much nicer to have Spike knead away her soreness with those cool, skillful fingers of his.  
  
'Don't even start!' She frowned and snapped the catalog shut.  
  
Buffy then tried to think about something, anything, other than Spike. She closed her eyes tightly, placed her hands in her lap and took a deep breath.  
  
'Okay, even breathing. Yes, that's it.' She attempted to meditate. 'Nice and peaceful.'  
  
She imagined a quiet setting in the woods. There were little animals scurrying around—rabbits, squirrels… She smiled. 'Cute little guys.'  
  
A kitten wandered by--a tabby with a pink nose and green eyes. It looked up at her and mewed.  
  
'Hey, what are you doing here? Did you get lost?' She pictured herself stooping over to pick the animal up.  
  
Without warning, there was a rustling in the shrubbery behind her. She turned around.  
  
"Oh there you are! Ran away, did you?!" An all too familiar, platinum blonde demon stepped out in front of her. He reached for the kitten. "Mind handing him over, Slayer? Got a very important poker game to go to." He looked her up and down, then curled his lips into a smile. "Unless, of course…you're interested in playing another sort of game with me."  
  
Buffy grimaced with frustration. "Damn!" she muttered and banished the image from her mind.  
  
Sighing, she opened her eyes. It was no use. Despite what she'd told her friends, despite what she'd told her sister, and despite what she kept telling herself, over and over…Spike was always in her thoughts, and there was a part of her that knew he wouldn't be leaving them anytime soon.  
  
There was a part of her that didn't want him to.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Two figures walked stealthily around the stately old building that served as the Watchers Council headquarters. The building appeared practically deserted. Giles looked up and saw a light in a corner office on the highest floor. Quentin Travers, a senior member of the Council and the man whom Giles would be meeting with in the morning, was apparently still at work.  
  
The Watcher glanced around quickly, scanning the area for the two night watchmen who would be patrolling the building at the time. Neither was in sight. He gestured for Spike to follow him and they entered through the front door. Giles led the vampire to the inner stairwell. Their footsteps echoed softly as they made their way down to the basement.  
  
When they reached their destination, Giles flipped a switch, illuminating the aptly named Dungeon in fluorescent light.  
  
Spike looked around, noticing rows of shelves, which almost touched the room's low ceiling. The shelves were loaded with bankers boxes. The basement smelled musty and the lights flickered eerily in certain places.  
  
"Very homey," Spike commented, smirking.  
  
Giles ignored the vampire and sat down at the microfiche reader. He searched through the index of records. "What was your Father's name, again?" he asked.  
  
"Pierce. Elliot Pierce," Spike replied.  
  
With the skill of an experienced librarian, Giles looked up the record and located the appropriate file number in less than a minute. "Well, there appears to be an Elliot Pierce here," he said. "I'll have to pull the film which contains his history."  
  
The Watcher went to a nearby shelf and started scanning the labels on the storage boxes. "Ahh. Here it is," he muttered as he pulled out one of the heavy boxes. Spike watched Giles struggle for a few seconds before deciding to relieve him of the record-filled container. He easily carried it over to the table and placed it next to the microfiche reader.  
  
Giles opened the box and found the appropriate film. He placed it in the machine and began reading.  
  
"Elliot Pierce," Giles said, looking at the screen in front of him. "Says here, he was a Council member from 1855 until his death in 1886. Hmmm. Interesting. Says he was second in command at the time of his death."  
  
"Could be my Father. Time sounds about right." Spike leaned over Giles' shoulder and squinted at the screen. "Is there anything else? Anything about the family?"  
  
"Yes, he had a wife named Clara, a son, William…" Giles paused and glanced at Spike. "So, looks like your suspicions were right."  
  
"I wonder why he never told me." Spike frowned. "Isn't this Watcher thing something that's supposed to run in the family?"  
  
Giles shrugged. "Perhaps he thought you weren't ready. The responsibly of being a Watcher is not something that one takes lightly. He was probably waiting for the appropriate time."  
  
Spike shook his head. "Funny. If he'd let me in on the whole Watcher thing—maybe we wouldn't be here today. I might've never allowed Dru to turn me."  
  
Giles glanced at Spike. "Is that right?" he asked, doubtful.  
  
"If I'd known that I'd become an evil, bloodsucking vampire and murder hundreds of people? Yeah, I doubt that I would've allowed it to happen." He looked at Giles. "But we all make bad choices during our lives—some just end up being worse than others." He shrugged. "Is there anything in there about me getting vamped?"  
  
Giles turned back to the screen. "No, it just says here that you were never trained as a Watcher and died in 1880, apparently killed in an attempted robbery."  
  
"So, my Father never told them."  
  
"Apparently not. Perhaps he was protecting you," Giles said, glancing at Spike.  
  
"Or covering up for his own failure," Spike muttered.  
  
"Yes, perhaps."  
  
"My father would've wanted to protect his reputation," Spike said quietly. "I must've been a big disappointment. " He paused. "But, tell me, is there anything about my sister…Emily?"  
  
Giles looked back to the screen. "Yes, here…says daughter Emily…" He scrolled down the record until he found a separate history for Emily Pierce.  
  
"Emily Pierce," Giles continued. "Says here she began her Watcher training in 1883, at the age of 18." He paused as he read through more of the record. "She became an expert in witchcraft."  
  
"My Sis was a Wiccan?"  
  
"Apparently. It says she mastered the black arts at a remarkably young age…became quite powerful."  
  
"I told you she was bright," Spike said, suddenly becoming excited. "But what became of her? What does the history say?"  
  
Giles scanned the record. "Oh dear."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It says here that she and the rest of your family were all killed in 1887, in a fire at their country home. The history ends there."  
  
"I don't understand it," Spike said softly to himself.  
  
"Yes, it's very tragic. It was the end of the Pierce line of Watchers." Giles said, looking solemnly at Spike. But the vampire didn't hear him, he was far away—thinking of his family and, in particular, the kid sister who'd supposedly died so many years ago.  
  
* * *  
  
It was well after midnight by the time Spike got back to his hotel. Surprisingly, Giles had offered to drive him back without having to be coerced. Perhaps he was growing on the ex-librarian. Spike smirked. After all, they had the whole Watcher thing in common now.  
  
As he was about to enter his hotel, he noticed the now familiar black Mercedes parked in front. 'This is getting bloody irritating.' He walked over to the car and knocked on the back window. After a couple of seconds, the back door opened.  
  
Spike peered inside the car and opened his mouth to say something. He stared in disbelief at the woman sitting inside.  
  
"Hello William," she said. Her small face was much as he'd remembered it. She was a bit older, more beautiful and her eyes were different, somehow. He remembered them as being bright and full of life. Now they seemed cold, hard and distant.  
  
"Emily," he whispered in disbelief. "It really is you."  
  
His sister smiled and beckoned for him to get into the car. "Come now, Brother. We have much to talk about."  
  
Wordlessly, Spike sat down next her on the back seat and pulled the door shut. Emily placed a hand on top of his. It felt cool.  
  
"Max," she said, addressing her driver. "Take us home." 


	8. Emily

Chapter 8 – Emily  
  
  
  
"But how?" Spike asked, looking at the sister he'd long believed to be dead. "The record in the Watcher archive said you, Mum and Dad all died in a fire."  
  
"Yes, our parents died in that fire," Emily answered, "but I was already dead." She glanced at Spike then looked out the car window. "I suppose you'd like to know what happened." She paused and looked back at him. "I guess it all started on the night you died..."  
  
Around midnight, Emily said, she was awakened by voices coming from the foyer. She heard footsteps go past her bedroom and stop down the hall, where her parents' room was located. There were more voices—her father's, the servant's and then her mother's hysterical cries. She ran into the hallway and knew by the look on her parents' faces that something terrible had happened. Her mother was distraught, unable to speak, so her father gently broke the news to his daughter.  
  
William was dead.  
  
Emily stood perfectly still, feeling numb. The hallway seemed to magically grow longer—its walls stretching, making her parents suddenly appear far away. Wordlessly, she turned around, made the long walk back to her room and shut the door. She then got into bed and went back to sleep, hoping that it was all a dream—that her older brother would be alive when she awoke in the morning.  
  
"I never once thought about the Family," Spike said softly. "After I was reborn, I never once looked back." He fidgeted uncomfortably as he reflected on the pain he'd brought to the people he'd once cared about.  
  
The funeral took place two days later, Emily continued. The weather was gloomy, perfectly mirroring the feelings of a fifteen-year old girl who'd just lost her only brother—and best friend. She stared in disbelief at the pale body lying in the coffin. She told herself that William was only sleeping—that he'd awaken eventually.  
  
She was brave until the end. She hadn't cried or shown emotion of any kind until they began shoveling dirt onto the coffin. At this point, she became frantic, yelling for them to stop.  
  
Spike frowned. "Did you know?" he asked. "What I was to become?"  
  
Emily shook her head. "Not yet," she replied.  
  
Later in the evening, Emily said. She heard her father pacing in his study. Unable to sleep, she decided to go downstairs to talk to him. When she reached the top of the stairs, she saw him leave through the front door.  
  
Curious, she followed him and wound up at the cemetery—at her brother's grave. She watched as her father took out a wooden cross and stake from the bag he'd been carrying. Then he waited for what seemed like hours. Emily was cold and shivering, but she wouldn't leave.  
  
As she crouched, hidden behind a nearby gravestone, she stared in disbelief as her brother dug emerged from the ground. She recognized his clothes, his hair, and his stature…but his face was transformed. She gasped at the sight of the demon he'd become.  
  
Her father seemed prepared. He forced William back with the cross and raised the stake to strike. But then, without warning, her brother changed, and was William again. Her father paused and looked uncertain. He then stepped back and let the demon go.  
  
Spike nodded absently. "I remember that night clearly," he murmured. "I'd always wondered how he knew about me becoming a vampire. But I now know that he was a Watcher."  
  
"Yes," Emily replied. "As was I."  
  
After that night, Emily said. She became obsessed with finding out what had happened to her brother.  
  
One day, in her father's bookshop, she found a secret room. All of the walls were lined with shelves reaching to the ceiling and all were filled with books about magic, the supernatural, demons and vampires.  
  
She studied them secretly, learning all she could about the monster her brother had become. A vampire, she learned, was a soulless human body inhabited by a demon. She read that the mind—the thoughts and memories of the dead host, was left intact. However, as vampires were influenced by demon desires and wants, and lacked the spiritual guidance and conscience provided by the soul, they were all believed to be evil, remorseless killers. According to the books, they had no chance of redemption.  
  
Emily couldn't bring herself to believe this. She developed her own theory- -that a strong mind could eventually overcome the vampire's demon instincts and that redemption was possible. She believed that if she could one day find her brother—she could save him.  
  
Spike sadly shook his head. "I don't believe anything could've saved me back then."  
  
The car came to a stop and Spike stared out the window. He could hardly believe it. The house was just the same as it had been over a hundred years before. He was home again.  
  
Emily squeezed his hand. "Come on. Let's go. I'll finish the story inside."  
  
* * *  
  
Spike sat in the comfortable leather chair that had once been his Father's favorite. He sipped brandy from his glass and felt it start to warm him. His sister smiled and took a sip from her own glass.  
  
"You know," she said, nodding to the brandy. "It doesn't really warm us. That feeling…the warmth. It's only a memory. Just proves how powerful the mind is, doesn't it?  
  
"Sure feels real," Spike replied, draining the glass.  
  
Emily refilled it. "And that's all that really matters, isn't it?"  
  
"So," Spike said, looking intently at his sister. "You never told me what happened to our folks and how you got vamped."  
  
"Yes." Emily looked thoughtful.  
  
It was years later, she said. She was twenty-two and was officially a member of the Watchers Council. By then, she'd already been studying magic for almost seven years—first on her own, then formally under the Council's guidance. She'd learned much and had become quite powerful and very sure of herself—perhaps overly so. She decided that it was time to test her theory on vampires.  
  
She began frequenting the places that ordinary people feared most. Places like the Hellhound Pub that were only patronized by evil types—vampires, demons. She looked for her brother for almost a year, spending night after night searching.  
  
"I was long gone by then," Spike muttered. "I left London the same year I was sired."  
  
Emily looked at him and sighed. "Yes, I expected as much."  
  
Eventually, she lost patience. She decided to test her theory another way and started looking for the appropriate sire. She wanted to find someone old and powerful…to transfer that power onto herself. She knew it would have to be someone from an ancient line. She'd researched vampires—those known to the Council and documented in books.  
  
She finally found one who fit her needs. His name was Dominick. The Master had sired him. He was perfect.  
  
"Dominick," Spike said, recognizing the name. "I've met him before—a sadistic, evil bastard. He wasn't your…?"  
  
Emily nodded, "Yes. He was my sire."  
  
She approached him one night on a deserted street not far from the cemetery where her brother was buried. She was trembling, though more with excitement than fear. He was beautiful. Tall, with black hair and glittering eyes that, when he turned to her, reflected her own dark desires. She felt herself being drawn to him—to the darkness.  
  
This frightened her and she hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself. She'd never been this close to evil before—never stared in its face so directly. She took a step back then froze as he advanced on her.  
  
Dominick seemed to be relishing the moment. Feeding on her fear. When he reached her, he ran his fingers through her hair and looked down at her, willing her to stare back. She felt as if she couldn't look away. He smiled at her, giving her chill. But she couldn't move. She didn't want to.  
  
The vampire then leaned down and kissed her--tender at first, just brushing her lips—then harder, more urgent and demanding. He caressed her cheek. His fingers felt smooth and cool like a silk scarf on a Fall day.  
  
He whispered in her ear, "Do you want it?" She looked at him and nodded, and at the moment, she really did.  
  
His demon face emerged, sinking his sharp fangs into Emily's neck, and he began to drink. She felt her life draining from her. But the pain startled her like a slap in the face. Suddenly, she came to her senses and forced him off of her with a separating spell. It knocked him down and gave her enough time to escape.  
  
When she reached home, her father was in his study. He heard her come in and intercepted her at the bottom of the staircase. He immediately saw the blood from her neck wound and demanded to know what had happened.  
  
She explained everything to him. He became angry and started ranting about how Dominick would come after her. That he'd tasted her blood and would want to finish what he'd started. He'd heard of Dominick and knew that he was a very dangerous vampire, gifted with second sight.  
  
The family packed that night and at sunrise left for their country home. It took a little over a week to reach their destination. It was dusk when they arrived. Her father sent Emily straight to her room and had the servant bring her supper. He locked the door from the outside.  
  
Every evening after that, for the next six nights, he would lock his daughter in her room. A witch, she could've easily unlocked the door with a single word, but she didn't out of respect for her father. He needed to feel that he was in control of the situation. Of course, he never was.  
  
On the seventh night, Dominick found her. She was asleep in her bed and she awoke, suddenly, feeling him near. She went to the window and saw him outside the house, under a tree, staring up at her. She watched as he approached the house, then disappeared into the shadows. Craning her neck, she tried to see where he'd gone, until moments later she heard a soft tapping of fingernails on glass.  
  
She turned and saw him standing in front of the French doors, on the side balcony outside her room. He looked at her, knowingly. She hesitated, then went to the door and stood there, staring at him. She wanted to let him in, but knew she had to resist.  
  
Dominick pressed his hand against the glass pane. Emily placed her hand on the opposite side. He looked down at their hands, almost touching, and smiled at her, appearing almost boyish. She smiled back, feeling a strange connection with him. She sensed that he understood—what she really wanted. She felt his presence inside her head, his thoughts becoming hers.  
  
He nodded to the door's latch, indicating for her to let him in. She opened it.  
  
"You didn't…" Spike muttered, knowing all too well that his sister had invited a sadistic killer into his family's home.  
  
Emily nodded. "I couldn't help myself," she said sadly.  
  
Dominick entered the bedroom and stood in front of her. He reached out and gently cradled her face in his hands. He spoke softly, telling her how lovely she was and how he could make her beauty eternal. He said that it was what she wanted.  
  
He kissed her. His lips, cold from the outdoors, warmed as they pressed against hers. Emily was inexperienced with men, having spent most of her life focused on studying and magic. She felt completely lost, with a demon as her only guide.  
  
Dominick was in control, leading her to the bed. He stroked her face and smiled as he felt her tremble beneath his touch. He asked if she were cold. Emily shook her head and whispered "no." He then gently guided her down onto the bed and lay next to her. He kissed her again, his hands now exploring her body, feeling her through the thin cotton fabric of her nightgown.  
  
The vampire proved to be a gentle lover. In his cool embrace, Emily could almost forget that he was a demon. His eyes were unfathomable as she stared into them, unable to speak—only to feel. To lose herself in his experienced touch.  
  
After they made love, he stared at the scar on her neck and lightly traced it with his fingertips. Her wound had healed in the two weeks since she'd been bitten. He kissed it. She felt a sharpness at her throat and realized that his fangs were now bared. The demon was back. He sank his teeth into the new, pink skin and began drinking her blood. This time, the pain felt almost pleasurable. The intensity of his bite was like an extension of their lovemaking.  
  
She seemed to be drifting away. The room was getting smaller. Her eyelids were becoming heavier. He stopped feeding and looked at her—his face an evil mask, eyes glittering yellow. He asked again, "Do you want it?"  
  
It took all her remaining strength to answer. She nodded. Using his fingernail, he sliced his own wrist and offered it to her. She drank with only the slightest hesitation. After she was full with the vampire's blood, she lay back and lost consciousness. She would awaken the next night—one of the undead.  
  
"Dominick," Spike said softly. "He murdered our parents."  
  
"Yes," Emily replied. "He told me later. He hunted them down, one by one, took his time—and slaughtered them. He then set the house on fire and watched it burn until nearly sunrise."  
  
Spike shook his head, knowing full well that he'd done many deeds of equal, if not greater, evil.  
  
Emily smiled sadly at her brother. "At least Father never found out what I was to become."  
  
Spike didn't reply. He took another sip of the brandy and savored the warmth that was only an illusion.  
  
"It's almost dawn," Emily said glancing at a wall clock. "We can talk more tomorrow. I'm afraid I've dominated the conversation. You must have much to say yourself. Come—You can sleep in your old room."  
  
She rose to her feet and led Spike up the familiar stairway to the second floor and the corner room that had been his. He stood in the doorway and stared in amazement—the room was unchanged—as if he'd never left.  
  
Emily stood on her tiptoes and kissed her brother on the cheek. "Goodnight William. It's good to have you back." She headed down to her room at the other end of the hallway.  
  
Spike entered the bedchamber and shut the door. He looked around and noted the heavy drapes that now covered the windows. Everything else was just as he'd remembered. It had all been meticulously maintained.  
  
He went over to his bed and lay down on it. He'd found out so much about his past and his family on this night. There was much to digest and he didn't know how this new knowledge would change things for him. He sighed and closed his eyes. He pushed all of the evening's discoveries out of his mind…and thought, instead, of Buffy. 


	9. Chances

Chapter 9 – Chances  
  
  
  
Giles sat in Quentin Travers' office, impatiently tapping his foot against the base of the large wooden desk in front of him. The Watcher's stomach growled, reminding him that he'd skipped breakfast in his haste to be on time for this meeting. He glanced at his watch and shook his head. It was not like Travers to be late. He wondered what was keeping his old colleague.  
  
At twenty past eight, Travers entered the room and apologized for his tardiness. He explained that something had come up just that morning.  
  
"What's going on?" Giles asked, frowning.  
  
"This business with Faith has a lot of people worried," Travers replied, looking tired. "There are a number of Council Members who still believe that she should be terminated. She could be a terrible liability to us if she were to change her loyalties."  
  
Giles looked distracted. "Yes, as she has already proven."  
  
"I've previously explained to you the Council's plans to reinstate Faith. We've had people observing her for quite some time—psychiatric experts. They all believe that she's sufficiently rehabilitated."  
  
"But I thought that Faith was incarcerated."  
  
Travers nodded. "Yes, but we have excellent attorneys—and connections. After approaching Faith, offering her a second chance, we were able to get her conviction overturned. Certain key pieces of evidence were 'misplaced' and her confession was thrown out due to her unstable mental state at the time it was obtained. After her release, we brought her here."  
  
"How long has she been in London?"  
  
"A month."  
  
"And why was I never told?"  
  
"The Council still wasn't sure what we were going to do with her…one way or the other. We believed you to be too close to the situation; you were directly affected by her previous betrayal. This needed to be an unbiased decision and we just weren't sure of how you'd react."  
  
Giles frowned, but didn't speak.  
  
"A second slayer could be a real asset to us, Rupert," Travers continued. "Although it's unquestioned that Buffy remain at the Hellmouth, the numbers of vampires have been increasing in other places—even here in London. Faith could be used as a 'roving slayer', so to speak. The Council could send her, on an 'as needed' basis, to areas where the vampire population has grown too large."  
  
"I don't know," Giles said, scratching his head. "In my opinion, the girl is extremely unstable. I realize I haven't seen her recently, but the kind of emotional scars she had…I just don't believe that they could have completely healed in a few years time."  
  
"I understand your concern. There are many who feel the same way. In light of this, the Council will be taking certain precautions with Faith."  
  
"Precautions?"  
  
"Yes, she'll be accompanied at all times by two Council representatives. They will assist her in her slaying duties and will always remain very close to her."  
  
"The Council has assigned her two Watchers?"  
  
Travers shook his head. "Not exactly. The men assigned to Faith are members of our elite group—"  
  
"Assassins. To keep her in line," Giles said, gravely. "And if she should cross the line…"  
  
"These men have been instructed to take the necessary measures."  
  
"I see," Giles murmured.  
  
"Rupert, Faith will still need an official Watcher," Travers said, looking pointedly at Giles. "This is where you come in. The Council feels that you would be the best man for the assignment."  
  
Giles frowned. "I'm not sure that I agree."  
  
"Rupert, the girl has requested you. You seem to be the only one in this organization that she trusts. I believe it's vital to our success that we foster this trust."  
  
Giles still looked doubtful.  
  
"Let's bring her in," Travers said gesturing to the door. "You can meet with her yourself and decide." Travers pressed the button on his intercom. "Nancy," he said, speaking to his secretary. "We're ready for them."  
  
Moments later, Faith entered, flanked by two tough-looking men dressed in dark suits. They reminded Giles of mafia hit men. He glanced at the rogue Slayer who looked out of character dressed in a white oxford shirt and gray pinstripe pants. She seemed apprehensive and unsure of herself.  
  
Faith looked at the Watcher. "Giles…" she said, taking a step toward him. One of the thugs at her side immediately placed a hand on her shoulder. She glared at him and easily shrugged him off.  
  
Travers cleared his throat. "Rupert, you remember Faith, of course." He gestured to her two escorts. "This is Leslie King, and his associate Collin Danvers. They'll be working with her as we've discussed."  
  
Giles nodded at the two men then turned his attention to Faith.  
  
"Giles," she began again. "I feel really awful about everything I did. I've been doing a lot of thinking—I want to make up for it—I really do."  
  
"Faith," Giles said, regarding her coolly. "I would like to believe you, but given the nature of your past behavior, I don't know if—"  
  
"Giles." Faith interrupted. "You don't understand. I need to make up for what I did. I know I screwed up, big time. I need for you to believe in me…to give me a chance. You're all I've got. And "B", er Buffy, I'd like to make it up to her too. I can help her with the slaying—make things easier for her."  
  
Giles contemplated what Faith had just told him. He knew that he probably was the only Council member whom she could really trust. She seemed sincere. Travers was right about the benefits of having a second slayer and if it meant helping Buffy…  
  
"Against my better judgment," Giles said, turning to Travers. "I'll accept this assignment." He glanced at Faith, his brow furrowed. 'May God help me,' he thought.  
  
Faith smiled and let out a sigh of relief. "I promise, I won't let you down," she said.  
  
Travers stood up and glanced around the room. "Well, now that we've settled that, we can get on with Faith's training and continued rehabilitation. Her first assignment will be coming up in a couple of days…"  
  
* * *  
  
Spike sat in the familiar dining room and sipped blood from a crystal glass. It had been heated to body temperature and he could tell from the first sip that it was human. It tasted fresh. He glanced at his watch and noted that it was only four in the afternoon. He didn't expect his sister to emerge from her room until sundown, as was the norm for most of their kind.  
  
Although he found his accommodations to be most comfortable, he felt eager to get back to his hotel. He wondered if Buffy had tried to contact him or if she had decided to join him. He knew that neither scenario was likely, but he couldn't help hoping.  
  
Moments later, Spike was surprised by Emily who descended the staircase and entered the room. She was impeccably dressed in a tailored, black Armani pantsuit and her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. He rose to greet her.  
  
"You're up bright and early," he commented as she seated herself at the table.  
  
Emily smiled at him. "As are you," she replied. She signaled to a servant who immediately left the room and returned a few minutes later with another crystal glass filled with the same bright red liquid as Spike's.  
  
"So," Emily said, sipping her breakfast. "Did you sleep well?"  
  
"Like the dead," Spike replied, smirking. He looked around the room. "You've got a nice little set-up here, Sis. How'd you…?"  
  
"I knew right from the start that living in a crypt was not for me." She replied, looking appreciatively at the fine crystal glass held in her hand. Her lips pressed together into a wry smile. "And after all, where would I keep all of my clothes?"  
  
Spike's eyes twinkled with amusement as he recalled the extensive wardrobe his sister had owned when he was alive. "Right."  
  
"Anyway, you remember our cousin 'Becca?"  
  
Spike drained his cup of blood. "Of course."  
  
"Apparently, after the fire, the little twit was our only living relative and stood to inherit our family's entire fortune." Emily's eyes narrowed. "Now, that just wouldn't have been right."  
  
"So you killed her."  
  
"No," Emily said, looking offended. "I told Dominick about it."  
  
"And he killed our cousin."  
  
Emily shrugged. "Well, yes, but it was necessary. I had to assume her identity to get back what was rightfully mine." She glanced at her brother. "And yours."  
  
"Hmmm," Spike said thoughtfully. "To kill with a clear conscience—just one of our many 'gifts'. But what about all that mumbo jumbo you said about vampires and redemption—that a strong mind could overcome our inner demon? Thought you had a theory."  
  
"I haven't given up on the theory," she said quietly.  
  
Spike arched an eyebrow. "So, do you consider yourself to be redeemed?" he asked, sounding doubtful  
  
She drew a deep breath, slowly exhaled and shook her head. "It's not that simple. I'll admit, I have taken human life…many lives, actually. Our demon instincts and our urge to feed—they're so strong. In the beginning, it was easy to fall into this new way of existing.  
  
"People—you see them in a whole new light. They're not Tom or Mary or Robert, but nameless faces…bodies…cattle. There's an immediate distance between us and them.  
  
"And Dominick, he showed me how wildly exciting it could be to embrace the darkness." Her smile appeared sad as she spoke of her sire. "He was beyond redemption. And, for a time, so was I."  
  
Spike looked at his sister skeptically. "And now…?"  
  
"And now, I think it's possible again. You just have to want it. Most of us don't—not really. Why would we?"  
  
"And what changed things?" Spike asked, leaning forward. "Why would you want it now?"  
  
Emily paused before speaking. "I think it has something to do with my having contact with humans again…with my seeing them as people and not prey. "  
  
After Dominick left, she said, about fifty years before—she met a man. At first she was only interested in him because he reminded her of her sire. He resembled him: the same thick black hair, the same dark eyes. She followed him around for a while, watching him from afar. Stalking him. She'd originally planned to turn him and make him into her new companion. But as she watched him and saw him go about his life, she changed her mind.  
  
His name was Daniel. He was a good man. The kind that helps little old ladies cross the street or holds the door open for people in wheelchairs. Invalids and the elderly had always been invisible to Emily. But he saw them and he helped them.  
  
As a doctor, he spent his days and many of his nights healing the sick. Where she took lives—he saved them. She examined her own existence and came out feeling dissatisfied. Suddenly, she wanted more. She recalled the idealistic girl she'd once been. She saw glimpses of that girl in Daniel.  
  
If she could meet him—make him fall in love with her—like a real woman…  
  
"And did he," Spike asked, sitting at the edge of his chair. "Did he fall in love with you?"  
  
Emily sighed and shook her head. "No," she whispered. "Although I never really gave him the chance. I was afraid he would reject me—so I resorted to a spell." She looked down at her now lukewarm glass of blood. "Let's face it, Brother, do you really think a human could fall in love with a vampire?"  
  
Spike didn't answer.  
  
Under the influence of magic, Emily continued, Daniel became a part of her existence. She loved him. He was everything that she wasn't, everything that she'd forgotten. She remembered what it felt like to be alive and she almost wanted to be mortal again. Almost.  
  
But since human life is fleeting, he inevitably began to fade. His black hair turned gray and then white. His eyes became dim, as did his mind. He forgot about her. Forgot about everything, even who he was. He became an invalid just like the ones he used to help. To her, it seemed cruel and unfair.  
  
"I took care of him until the end…until he died, nearly five years ago," Emily said wistfully. "I'd finally found the redemption that I'd almost forgotten about. But perhaps it's only temporary—like a human life. I can still feel the demon stirring inside me, and I'm not sure I can continue to fight him alone."  
  
Spike reached over and covered her hand with his. "Sad story, Em," he said. "Sometimes immortality can be a real bitch."  
  
Emily smiled sadly at her brother. "Sometimes," she replied. "But what about you, William? I saw you save that boy the other night. Tell me, have you found your way to redemption?"  
  
"I…" Spike shook his head. "I'm not sure. But I think there's a chance." He attempted a smile. "A girl…she just might be that chance. But I need to get back to my hotel…"  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy checked in under the name 'Mrs. William Pierce'. She thought it funny that Spike's last name was Pierce. 'Spike Pierce? Could you get any more pokey?'  
  
She was pleasantly surprised by the hotel's elegance. It was like stepping into an episode of "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous". At first, she'd wondered if she was in the right place. But the man at the front desk had easily found her reservation, and when she'd gotten up to the room with the 'Do Not Disturb' sign, she'd found the supply of blood in the mini- refrigerator and her sophomore year picture propped up on the nightstand.  
  
The Slayer picked up the photo and smiled, then frowned. 'Gotta get him something more recent. Well, maybe…we'll see.' She carefully put the picture back and decided to take a shower. The hot water would wash off that icky feeling she had from traveling for almost a day.  
  
She wondered where Spike had gone, and couldn't help hoping that he'd be back soon. After all, she'd flown halfway across the world just to be with him. 


	10. Surprise

Chapter 10 – Surprise  
  
  
  
"She's here," Spike said incredulously as he snapped the cell phone shut. He handed it back to Emily who was seated next to him in the car. "They said she just checked in…I can't believe she actually came to London."  
  
Emily faced her brother and studied him carefully. "You really love this girl, don't you?" she asked.  
  
The corners of his mouth turned upward and he answered without hesitation. "I do." He leaned forward and addressed the driver. "Can't you make this tin can go any faster?"  
  
Emily smiled. "Patience, William. We'll be there soon enough."  
  
She glanced out the window and watched passersby walking on the sidewalks…like herds of livestock. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then turned back to her brother.  
  
"Tell me," she said. "Does this girl feel the same way about you?"  
  
Spike looked away. "I'm not sure," he replied. "She knows I'm a monster…"  
  
"I could do a spell if you'd like," Emily suggested. "It could make you irresistible…"  
  
Spike smirked. "Oh, I'd say that I already am. I'm the drug she just can't give up no matter how hard she tries." He said bitterly. "But that's not what I want."  
  
"And what is it you do want?"  
  
He shook his head. "Well, I know what I don't want. I'm tired of being a quick fix…an artificial high that only leaves her feeling sordid and ashamed afterwards—hating herself, and me even more. I'd rather…" Spike exhaled with frustration. "But I know it's useless. I'm just a thing…a monster. How could I be anything more?"  
  
"William," Emily said firmly. "You're only a monster if you let yourself be one. It's easy to believe that we have no control—that our fate is predestined, but ultimately we all make our own choices. Even demons like us. We've been dealt a tough hand, you and I. Our paths are somewhat more twisted than the average man's, but it doesn't mean we can't end up in a similar place. There may be a few detours along the way, but we'll get there." She smiled encouragingly and patted his hand.  
  
Spike looked doubtful. "Will we?" he asked.  
  
"I'm sure of it." If only she could believe her own words. "Tell me, Brother, what's she like…this girl of yours? I'd like to meet her…"  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
B Buffy tilted her head up and closed her eyes, savoring the feel of the warm droplets raining down on her face. Her lips parted slightly and a small amount of water collected in her mouth. The shower felt good, but she'd stayed in much too long. Her fingertips were beginning to resemble raisins.  
  
She stepped out of the shower and patted herself dry with a fluffy white towel. Using her hands, she wrung the water from her long blond hair then wrapped the towel around her head like a turban. She put on one of the hotel's thick terrycloth robes and cinched the belt around her waist.  
  
The mirror above the sink was completely fogged. Buffy cleared a circle with her hand and stared at her reflection. She looked flushed from the shower. She pressed her hands against her head, blotting the wetness from her hair, then removed the towel, revealing a tangle of damp waves.  
  
Scanning the counter, she realized that she'd left her cosmetics case on the bed. She spied a black toiletry bag. It looked new. She imagined Spike buying it, or rather stealing it, special, for the trip.  
  
In need of a comb—and curious, she picked up the vampire's bag and opened it. Its contents seemed so normal: A razor, shaving cream, toothpaste, a toothbrush, and mouthwash. If she hadn't known better, she would've thought that the bag belonged to a regular guy—of the live variety. It was all very deceptive.  
  
Buffy continued sorting through the toiletries until she came across a small black comb. She pulled it out and looked at it doubtfully. 'A little wimpy,' she thought. It would've been like trying to take out a meadow with a weed-whacker.  
  
She was about to exit the bathroom and retrieve her cosmetics case, but paused when she heard voices. Someone had entered the room. She placed an ear against the door and listened.  
  
"I'm not sure this is such a good idea, pet." It was Spike's voice.  
  
A woman answered. "Oh, don't worry, I won't stay long."  
  
Buffy's mouth hung open as she realized that Spike wasn't alone, that he was with…another woman! Her eyes narrowed. And he'd called her pet! She heard Spike offer the woman something to drink. "No thanks. You know I only like it heated just right," the female said. There was a certain intimacy in her tone.  
  
'Omigod!' Buffy looked around the bathroom for her clothes but realized that she had left them on the bed. She couldn't believe that she'd come all the way from Sunnydale only to find that Spike had met someone else.  
  
'Omigod!' she thought again. 'He's with another woman!' She felt a lump in her throat. 'Bastard!' She glared at her reflection in the mirror. 'I'm the one who's supposed to move on—not him!'  
  
She took a deep breath, straightened her robe and stood a little taller. 'Okay Buffy, let's do this with dignity. Get your stuff and get the Hell outta here!'  
  
She took another deep breath and opened the door. As she entered the room, she felt as if everything was moving in slow motion. She looked immediately at Spike who jerked his head toward her and started to smile. She then turned to the woman standing in front of the bed. She was pretty: petite, brunette and strangely familiar. Buffy stood there, mortified, as she noticed that the woman was looking at her high school photograph.  
  
"Buffy—" Spike said, taking a step toward her.  
  
Buffy gaped at the two vampires and found herself unable to speak. Her higher faculties seemed to be on vacation. Baser instincts took over. Instincts that told her to flee…run…to just leave! She quickly turned and rushed out the door. Behind her, Spike was saying something, but it sounded all garbled like the guy reading back your order at the Jack-in-the- Box drive-thru.  
  
Clad in a bathrobe, hair still damp, and barefoot, Buffy fled down the hallway. When she reached the elevator, she immediately began punching the down button with her index finger. 'Dammit!' She felt tears starting to form and blinked repeatedly, determined to hold them at bay.  
  
Someone from behind her put a hand on her shoulder. She batted it away. Two hands grabbed her and turned her around. Spike. He looked all blurry. He tilted his head to one side and gazed at her sympathetically. Cool hands cupped her hot face and fingers brushed away the tears that had started to flow uncontrollably.  
  
"Buffy…pet," Spike said, still stroking her face with his fingers.  
  
"Pet?" The Slayer stared at him angrily. "Is that what you call all your women?"  
  
"What?" His brow furrowed with confusion. "Luv what's wrong?"  
  
"What's wrong? What's wrong?" Buffy asked hysterically. She hammered his chest with her fists, until he gently stopped her and held her hands still. She glared up at him. "I'll tell you what's wrong!" she said. "I'm such an idiot! That's what's wrong! And you! You're such a jerk! I can't believe I came all this way…only to find you with…"  
  
"My sister?"  
  
"That little tramp…That…Your—wha?" Her eyes widened as she stared up at him. "What did you just say?"  
  
Spike smiled and kissed her forehead. "Emily's my sister, luv. My only living relative…in a manner of speaking."  
  
* * *  
  
There was an uncomfortable silence as two vampires and a Slayer stood facing each other in the posh hotel room.  
  
"Emily," Spike said, breaking the silence. "This is Buffy. Buffy…Emily."  
  
The two women stared at each other cautiously.  
  
Spike laughed nervously. "Emily, as it turns out, is not only a vampire, but a really powerful witch as well." He winked at Buffy. "Let's just say that she sorta makes Willow look like a muggle, eh?"  
  
Buffy's eyes widened with alarm and she looked apprehensively at the demon that would undoubtedly be considered a major threat by the Watchers' Council.  
  
"Oh, and by the way," Spike added casually. "I forgot to mention to you Em, Buffy happens to be a Slayer."  
  
Emily's eyes narrowed as she studied the girl who dusted vampires for a living.  
  
Spike looked at Buffy, then at his sister, and then back at Buffy again. He clapped his hands together and made a weak attempt at a smile. "Well then, now that the bloody introductions are over, I think it's time for Sis here to get going. Slayer and I have a lot to…uh, discuss."  
  
He started ushering his sister out of the room. Before opening the door, he whispered something to her. Emily looked at him and sniffed. She turned to Buffy and smiled coldly. "It was very nice meeting you," she said stiffly.  
  
"Likewise," Buffy responded with barely feigned sincerity.  
  
Emily then exited the room without a second glance, leaving a trace of Chanel lingering in the air.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Spike turned to Buffy and shrugged. "Don't worry, she'll grow on you, I'm sure," he said. He crossed the distance between them in three long strides and enveloped her in his arms.  
  
"I'm so glad you're here." He grinned, making him appear about eighteen. A young schoolboy smitten for the first time. "You surprised me!" He shook his head. "I can't believe you came."  
  
She looked at him and bit her bottom lip. "I guess I surprised me to," she admitted. "I still don't know what I'm doing here. I…"  
  
His eyes looked so blue, dreamy—you could get lost in eyes like that. What was she going to say? Suddenly she didn't know. Acting on impulse, Buffy stood on her tiptoes and locked lips with his. She wanted to kiss him so completely—so thoroughly—she wanted to devour him.  
  
Spike's hands roved up and down her body. 'God! He knows how to push all the right buttons!' she thought. It amazed her how he could do that. She felt herself melt in his cool embrace. So much for discussion—they'd probably only bicker anyway.  
  
She let out a slight gasp as his lips tickled her ear and he whispered, "I love you, Slayer."  
  
She closed her eyes, held him close and pretended that it was really true. 


	11. Reflections

Chapter 11 - Reflections  
  
  
  
Buffy awoke from the most wonderful dream. Her and Spike together—only it wasn't wrong. She reached out to the other side of the king-sized bed, expecting to find him sleeping next to her, but there was no one there. The sheets were cold. Turning her head, she confirmed that the vampire was not where she'd expected him to be.  
  
'No Spike.' She frowned. Was that disappointment she felt?  
  
She sat up and looked around the room. There was no sign of him, but... She heard the faint sound of running water. 'Ah, he's just in the shower.' She sat very still, listening. Was that…singing?  
  
"Show me, show me, show me…how you do that trick…the one that makes me scream, she said…" sang the voice from the bathroom. She recognized the song. They played it on the '80's station pretty often—"Just Like Heaven" by the Cure.  
  
Smiling, she closed her eyes, hugging her knees to her chest as she listened to the vampire sing. He sounded happy.  
  
"…Spinning on that dizzy edge, I kissed her face…and kissed her head…and dreamed of all the different ways…I had to make her glow…"  
  
Buffy got out of bed and searched around the room for something to wear. She put on one of Spike's t-shirts and headed for the bathroom. She couldn't resist. She had to take a peek.  
  
"…dancing in the deepest ocean, twisting in the water…you're just like a dream…you're just like a dream."  
  
She heard him shut off the water and get out of the shower. She hesitated for couple of seconds, then opened the door. Not fast enough. The lower half of his torso was already wrapped in a towel. He looked up at her and grinned. "Good-morning, luv," he said. His lean, muscular body glistened with tiny droplets of water. His wet, bleached-blond hair was all tousled and wavy.  
  
Buffy bit her bottom lip. "Um, hi," she said, finally.  
  
Spike started poking through his toiletry bag, pulling out his toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. "Did you sleep well?" he asked conversationally.  
  
"Mmm Hmm." Buffy nodded and leaned against the counter. She watched as Spike faced the fogged up mirror and methodically brushed his teeth. So normal…  
  
Glancing at the clouded glass, Buffy automatically reached over and cleared a section with her hand. Her arm recoiled, suddenly, as she stared at her lonely reflection. Of course he didn't have one—vampire, monster, evil…remember? How stupid. For a second, she'd almost forgotten.  
  
* * *  
  
Across town, in a makeshift studio apartment located in the rear of a deserted warehouse, Faith splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to clear her mind. For weeks, she'd felt weird, like she was constantly in a stupor. She wondered about the big white pills those two Council guys kept giving her.  
  
She looked at her reflection starting back at her from the bathroom mirror. The eyes suddenly narrowed and the face smirked. "You know what you are?" it said.  
  
Faith blinked hard and shook her head.  
  
"You're nothing," the image continued. "You've got nothing. You've got no one. You're nothing."  
  
"That's not true," Faith whispered.  
  
"What are you trying to prove, anyway?" her reflection sneered. "Who're you trying to be? You're not her…never gonna be her. Little Miss Perfect. That's not you."  
  
"Stop it!"  
  
"You know the only thing you were ever good at was being bad. You can be bad. Be bad! Be evil! Be something!"  
  
"No! You're not real!" Faith smashed the mirror with her fist. Shards of glass fell into the bathroom sink and onto the floor. The Slayer stared at the blood on her hands and sank to the cold linoleum.  
  
Glancing down, she saw dozens of faces looking up at her from the scattered pieces of broken mirror. She picked up a large, knife-like shard and held it to her chest. 'You can end this right here.' She gripped it tightly, causing it to cut into her fingers. 'Everyone will be better off. A new Slayer will be called…a real Slayer.'  
  
Faith dropped the shard and covered her face with her blood-smeared hands. "No. No. No," she whimpered, bowing down low so that her forehead almost touched the floor. She was so afraid—always afraid. Despite her Slayer strength, she was weak inside. She always had been.  
  
The door to the bathroom opened suddenly and one of the Council henchmen walked in. Faith wept silently, not looking up. Collin Danvers, a tall man with short brown hair, paused as he stared down at her. She lay prone on the floor as if praying to some ancient god.  
  
He knelt down next to her and placed a hand on her back. "Hey," he said softly. "You okay?"  
  
Faith didn't answer. She didn't move.  
  
Another man entered the room. This one had a ruddy complexion and reddish blond hair. "What's going on?" Leslie King asked his associate.  
  
Danvers looked up. "I don't know. Looks like she may've had an accident."  
  
King snorted in response. "She's a mess. I don't know what the Council could've been thinking. I'd better let Travers know about this."  
  
"No!" Danvers said, looking worried. "I think the drugs are messing with her head. Maybe we should lower the dose."  
  
King looked doubtful. "I don't know. I think our orders are pretty clear…if anything happens out of the ordinary, it needs to go on record."  
  
"I'll take full responsibility. This girl…she deserves a chance."  
  
King smirked. "Going soft, are we Collin?"  
  
"No," Danvers replied. "It's just that the Council has voted to give this girl a second chance. Our job is to help her along and keep her on track. I'm just doing my job, that's all."  
  
"Yeah, well, that's your interpretation," King muttered as he left the room.  
  
Danvers turned his attention back to Faith. He gently helped her stand and wash the blood from her hands. He then led her to the adjoining room and to the small bed that was pushed up against the far wall. Dazed, she sat down and stared at her hands, which lay, palms up, in her lap. Danvers went back to the bathroom to hunt for first aid supplies. After a few minutes, he came back with some bandages and antibiotic ointment and tended to her cuts.  
  
He smiled kindly at the Slayer. "You'll be okay. Just get some rest. Tomorrow's the big night."  
  
He patted Faith on the shoulder and she lay down on the bed. She closed her eyes as he exited through the door leading out to the warehouse.  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy emerged from the bathroom, dressed in tight black pants and a sheer, sleeveless white top. She immediately noticed that Spike was about to open the hotel room's heavy draperies. It was ten in the morning.  
  
"What…are you crazy?" she yelled, rushing over to stop him. "Sunlight—bad! Remember?"  
  
Spike smiled at her. "Worried about me, luv?" He grabbed her around the waist and kissed the top of her head.  
  
The Slayer looked up at him and frowned. "I was just…" she began.  
  
The vampire smirked. "Don't sweat it, sunshine." Still holding her with one arm, he opened the drapes with the other. "I heard that it'd be cloudy today. No sun in sight. See?"  
  
She glanced out the window and noted that it was indeed a gloomy day. "But how…?" she asked.  
  
Spike looked smug. "Em took care of it. Spell of some sort. The city's ours, luv. Whatever you want to do…" He gave her a squeeze and nuzzled her ear.  
  
"Mmmmh." Buffy closed her eyes, distracted by the sensations that Spike aroused in her.  
  
"So," Spike said, grinning down at her. "What would you like to do today?"  
  
* * *  
  
"You did the right thing," Quentin Travers said, absently drumming his fingers on the heavy wooden desk in front of him. "Faith's unstable. I don't care what the so-called experts all say. The girl's a liability to us."  
  
Sitting across from him, Leslie King nodded gravely. "Collin doesn't agree. Thinks she deserves a chance."  
  
"Collin's what the Americans call a 'boy scout'. His intentions are good but…" Travers shook his head. "No, I think it's time we switch to the alternate plan. I trust that you'll take care of it."  
  
"Consider it done." King got up and headed for the door.  
  
"Leslie?"  
  
King paused and turned to look at his superior.  
  
"Just remember. We're the good guys." Travers smiled but his eyes remained cold.  
  
"Right," King muttered quietly as he exited Travers' office. "Good guys." 


	12. Whispers and Moans

Chapter 12 – Whispers and Moans  
  
  
  
Buffy awoke with a start. There was something just a bit unsettling about waking up in the arms of a vampire. Spike's head rested next to hers on the pillow. His chin touched her forehead and his lips just barely brushed her hair. His body was completely still—like a corpse.  
  
She started to extricate herself from his embrace, but stopped when he began to stir. The vampire kissed her hair and his fingers caressed her below the waist. She closed her eyes and felt her traitorous body respond automatically to his masterful touch.  
  
They'd spent all of yesterday like this—in bed, on the floor, in the shower… So much for seeing London. She felt all warm and pleasantly achy. But it was the morning of another day, surely this marathon had to stop…at least temporarily.  
  
"Spike," she said softly. His hands were now at the small of her back and he was gently pulling her against him.  
  
"Mmmm?" he murmured into her ear.  
  
"I…uh…" she faltered.  
  
Spike pushed back slightly and studied her face. "What's wrong, luv?" he asked, concerned by her troubled expression.  
  
Buffy gazed into his blue eyes…so clear, so honest. 'No. It's a lie. This isn't real.' She bit her bottom lip and looked away. "I don't love you," she said with more conviction than she felt.  
  
Spike's body stiffened and his fingers dug into her skin. His face registered the hurt her words had caused. "I know you don't," he said, quietly resigned. He released her suddenly and lay back on the bed. "I guess I should just consider myself lucky…to be near you…to touch you as I have." He ran his fingers along the length of her arm.  
  
"Spike." She rolled on her side and faced him. Hesitating, she reached over and traced the hollow under his cheekbone.  
  
He turned away abruptly. "The only problem is," he said softly. "I'm in love with you." He looked back at her. "I know you don't believe it…but it's true. When I touch you, it means something—at least to me."  
  
Buffy blinked back tears. She opened her mouth but couldn't speak.  
  
Spike sighed. "You've changed me, pet. Shed light on my darkness, made me remember what it feels like to be a man." He smiled sadly. "Sometimes, I can almost forget that I'm a monster."  
  
Tears streamed down Buffy's face. "I wish…" Her throat tightened, preventing her from finishing her sentence.  
  
Spike's eyes glistened as he reached over and lovingly stroked her cheek, brushing away the wetness. "I do too, luv," he murmured. He pulled her close and kissed her tenderly, trying to make her forget, at least for a little while, the hurt they both felt.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
A couple of hours later, Buffy lay in bed, watching Spike move about the room. He'd gotten dressed and was looking for his card key. He slipped on his duster and found it in the coat's pocket.  
  
"Where're you going?" she asked, frowning. She propped herself up on one elbow. 'Don't leave me,' she thought.  
  
He looked at her, his face betraying the turmoil within him. "I'm just going out, pet," he said gently. "To get some air."  
  
"Oh," she said, looking distracted. 'But vampires don't breathe.' She sat up and pulled the sheet around her. The thought of being alone—without him—left her feeling strangely empty.  
  
Spike strode over to the bed, leaned over and lightly pressed his lips against her forehead. His eyes captured hers for a moment. "I'll be back in a bit," he said, attempting a smile. "I love you."  
  
She watched, helplessly, as he exited the room. The door swung shut behind him with what seemed like ominous finality. But…he'd said he'd return. She had no reason to believe that he wouldn't.  
  
* * *  
  
As Spike hurried out of the hotel, he glanced up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was another cloudy day--compliments of Emily, no doubt. Where was he going? He didn't know. It didn't matter. He kept walking, barely noticing his surroundings.  
  
His thoughts were all a muddle—so bloody confused! The Slayer did this to him. Was she just playing with him? No, she was suffering as much as he was—tortured by guilt, most likely. He jaywalked across a busy street, ignoring shouts from angry motorists.  
  
The vampire thought about the way Buffy responded to him. How she cried out, shivered, gasped…when he touched her. How she moaned softly as he made love to her and whispered all sorts of 'nasties' in her ear. Whispers and moans. He could still hear them echoing in his head—haunting him.  
  
He stopped at a corner. Maybe it was time he finally faced the truth. The Slayer would never love him. He'd always known it. He looked down and spotted an ugly black beetle making its way across the bumpy concrete. What was it she'd said to him once?  
  
His eyes narrowed as he studied the insect. Ah yes, he was beneath her. He angrily crushed the beetle under his boot. Of course, she'd been right. His love could only tarnish her. Evil or not, he couldn't bear the thought of that happening. He loved her too much.  
  
Spike realized what he needed to do. Emily could help. He hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to take him…home.  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy got out of bed and threw on the first thing she saw—one of Spike's shirts. It smelled lightly of cigarettes and soap. She inhaled its scent and felt the hurt well up from deep inside of her as she thought of its owner. Tears. She hadn't cried so much since Angel. But she'd loved Angel. She didn't love Spike. She couldn't.  
  
She went to the bathroom and washed her face. Her reflection told her what she already knew. She was a wreck. Buffy stared at the girl in the mirror and wondered what it was Spike saw in her. He claimed to love her. He'd told her so, many times over. But, they were just words…they couldn't be true. She patted her face dry with a soft towel.  
  
'Vampires can't love. No soul, remember? He doesn't really love you.'  
  
The Slayer went back into the bedroom and for the first time noticed the fully stocked mini-bar. The tiny bottles seemed to be calling to her—little vials with magical potions. Potions that could numb the pain she felt. Methodically, she opened several bottles and poured their contents into a tall glass.  
  
'Witches brew.' She drank it all down in one long swig. 'Yuck!' It tasted awful. 'Need more!' She reached for a miniature bottle of vodka.  
  
After a few more drinks, Buffy had an idea. Maybe it was time that she looked at this whole thing with Spike in an objective, analytical way.  
  
She went over to the desk in the corner of the room and found a pen and some paper in the drawer. Dropping down into the straight-backed chair, she drew a line down the center of the sheet then wrote in wobbly lettering, "Pros" on the left side and "Cons" on the right. She chewed on the end the ballpoint pen and tried to concentrate. Her faculties already seemed to be working a bit slower than usual.  
  
At first, the Slayer found it difficult to think of any "Pros". 'God, am I dim,' she thought. Finally, she wrote down, "Great in Bed." This was undeniably true—she had to give him that. 'Of course,' she thought. 'He's equally good in…many other places as well.'  
  
Buffy thought harder. 'Okay, I just thought of another one, "Helps with Patrolling and Other Stuff." And oh, oh, howabout "Good Sense of Humor—Although a Bit Sick and Twisted." Yeah, that was another good one. Hmmmm.' She wrote down "Can Relate to the Whole Being Dead Thing—Although Not Necessarily the Being in Heaven Thing."  
  
'Anything else? Wait, yeah…' She wrote, "Loves Me a Lot." 'No!' She shook her head. 'Stupid drunken stupor!' She scratched out the last one. 'C'mon, we've just been through this! Vampires can't love, remember?' She'd almost forgotten—again!  
  
Buffy moved on to the next category. She did a neck roll and stared at the word "Cons" for a few seconds. 'Well, duh!' She wrote down in big capital letters "EVIL!" She thought about writing down "Has Killed Tons of People" and "Has Tried to Kill ME" but decided that those were pretty much covered under "EVIL."  
  
The Slayer tapped her pen angrily against the desk then thought of another one. She scribbled down "My Friends Don't Like Him." She gazed at that one for a moment then crossed it out. 'Lame!' she thought.  
  
Just then, another one hit her. 'Can't be true, but…Oh God! It was!' She pondered this last one for quite a while, not sure if it belonged under "Pros" or "Cons." Hesitantly, she shifted her writing hand to the "Pros" side of the paper and jotted down "I Love him."  
  
Buffy frowned and stared at the words. Suddenly, it all became as clear as the vodka she'd consumed earlier. 'Damn!' She decided that she'd have to tell him. 'I really have to…" She passed out before completing her thought. 


	13. Saving Faith

Chapter 13 – Saving Faith  
  
  
  
An uncharacteristic expression crossed Emily's face—one of confusion. She stared at her brother and frowned. "I don't understand, William," she said. "If you really love this girl, why are you leaving her?"  
  
Sighing, Spike leaned back in the worn leather chair. "Because I know she's never going to love me," he replied quietly.  
  
"Perhaps I could do a spell," she suggested.  
  
"No. I wouldn't want that," he said, shaking his head. "I've already tried to make a go of it with a 'Buffybot'…" He smiled briefly. "A spell would be no better. It wouldn't be real. I'd like to think I've evolved past that."  
  
"But William—"  
  
"Em, part of the problem is…I know I'm beneath her. I'd only bring her down."  
  
"Who's to say you're beneath her," Emily protested, "that she's better than you? We—"  
  
"We're monsters, Em. I know you said we can be more, but we've got no soul to guide us. The demon inside of us is too strong—you know it's true."  
  
Emily frowned but didn't speak.  
  
"The Slayer, on the other hand, represents light and goodness—everything I'm not. My mirror image. She's the reflection I lost over a century ago. I can see it now. "  
  
"Always the poet, William," Emily commented softly.  
  
"I've already caused her enough hurt. But you can help me. A charm or spell, perhaps…to ease her pain."  
  
Emily nodded absently "And for you?"  
  
Spike recalled Buffy once telling him that he was 'in love with pain.'  
  
His lips twisted into a sad smile. "I need to hold onto my pain," he said, "to remind me. Maybe it's the only thing we ever shared—and what I'm really in love with."  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
The large, black car crawled down the deserted street. Spike stared out the window and absently fingered the small pouch that hung by a cord around his neck. A spell for Buffy. It was a bit of magic commonly used to help the grieving. All he had to do was scatter its contents over her—easy enough. Emily had assured him that it would work, and that it was safe. She'd even used it on herself once.  
  
He hoped that it would help Buffy, and make her feel at home again with the living. She'd had a tough time adjusting to life after resurrection. Maybe the attraction she felt for him was just a metaphor—she was still clinging to death. He clenched the pouch, nearly causing the seams to burst, then let it go. He took a deep breath and stared out past the tinted glass.  
  
They were taking the "scenic route", passing through the demon part of town. Night was falling over London: The old buildings would soon be obscured in darkness.  
  
Seated beside him, Emily looked out at the neglected city blocks. She couldn't help but feel a certain rush whenever she entered the dark side of the city—where 'their kind' gathered. She saw a band of five vampires moving swiftly down the sidewalk and inched closer to the window, almost pressing her face against the glass. They were young, recently turned types, still relishing in their new-found power. She remembered those days well.  
  
As she watched the vampires, her brother spotted a lone figure walking on the opposite side of the street. She was dressed in tight, black leather pants and a crimson, form-fitting top. Her long, wavy brown hair framed her face like a mane. To Spike she seemed vaguely familiar.  
  
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. Walking fast, the girl kept glancing across the street—at a gang of bloodsuckers. She was carrying something. A stick? No—a stake. He leaned forward, realizing who she was.  
  
Faith.  
  
Although he'd never met her before, he'd seen pictures of her in one of Buffy's scrapbooks—back in his stalker days when he used to steal up to the Slayer's room and go through her personal items.  
  
On the night before last, he'd learned from Giles that Faith was in London.  
  
Spike immediately thought of Buffy. He knew that Faith had caused her a lot of trouble in the past. From behind the car's dark tinted windows, his eyes continued to follow her.  
  
What was she up to? Was she on patrol? Unlike Buffy, he'd heard that Faith enjoyed slaying demons. But something seemed strange. Her gait appeared somewhat jerky and awkward—not fluid, graceful, and predatory like the natural movements of a slayer.  
  
'If Faith's on patrol…' Spike frowned. 'Has the Council reinstated her? They couldn't be that stupid!' He wondered what the Watchers had in mind for her and how it impacted Buffy. Faith was not to be trusted—of that much he was sure. He decided to investigate.  
  
"Stop the car! I'm getting out!" he instructed the driver.  
  
The driver looked over his shoulder but didn't stop. He glanced at Emily.  
  
"What's wrong?" Emily asked, turning to Spike.  
  
"Nothing," her Brother assured her. "I've just spotted an old…acquaintance."  
  
* * *  
  
He followed Faith for a block or so. Staying back. Observing. Behind him, the dark Mercedes silently crept forward, blending in with the shadows. About ten feet in front of the Slayer, Spike noticed a tall, dark- haired man who kept looking over his shoulder every minute or so, as if checking on her.  
  
Suddenly, Faith made her move. She jogged over to the other side of the street and called to the small band of vamps she'd been tailing. "Hey! Fang Gang!" she yelled. He noticed that her voice quavered slightly.  
  
The five vampires stopped and spun around. They boldly looked the Slayer up and down. The leader, a tall, lanky blood-sucker with a shaved head, sneered at Faith. He started to swing the heavy chain he'd been carrying, from left to right and back. "Looky here boys!" he snarled. "Lil' girl here wants to play!" His lackeys laughed and started to approach the Slayer.  
  
"Wait!" the leader barked, gesturing to the others to stay back as he edged forward. "I'm gonna have a bit of fun with this one first. Do you like games, lil' girl?"  
  
Faith looked pale. She shook her head and assumed a defensive stance. "Not really," she replied softly.  
  
"Too bad," the head vampire said. "It's really more fun…" he lunged forward and swung his chain, catching her by the ankle and pulling her off her feet, "if you play." He advanced on her, but Faith rolled away and jumped to her feet before he could reach her.  
  
"Fast," he commented. He swung the chain at her head. This time, Faith caught it and pulled him down. She straddled him and raised her stake high above his heart, but the lackeys were upon her. They overpowered her, knocking away her stake and throwing her forcefully onto the sidewalk.  
  
Lying on her back, Faith glanced up at the second floor window of a building on the opposite side of the street. She frowned. Leslie King's crossbow was aimed in their direction, but why wasn't he firing? Brow still furrowed, she turned her attention back to the vampires, now closing in on her.  
  
Faith sprang to her feet and faced off against the undead gang members. A movement behind the converging fiends caught her attention. Collin Danvers managed to stake one of the lackeys from behind, before being thrown against a wall and knocked unconscious.  
  
From across the street, Spike silently looked on as Faith fended off her attackers. He could see that she was in trouble—unarmed and outnumbered. 'She's a big girl. She can take care of herself.' He glanced at his sister's black Mercedes and thought about leaving.  
  
Hearing Faith cry out in pain, he returned his attention toward the fight scene. The Slayer appeared to be limping as she backed away from her attackers. He'd noticed that her fighting skills were clearly off that night. Her punches and kicks continued to miss their intended targets.  
  
She wouldn't last long without help. 'Not my prob—'  
  
Spike clenched his teeth. "Balls!" He sprinted over to the other side of the street  
  
Charging into the gang of fiends, he knocked two vamps onto the ground. He then grabbed Faith's stake off the sidewalk and dusted the nearest one. He glanced at Faith, who was staring at him in disbelief. "C'mon!" he yelled. "You don't expect me to do all your work?"  
  
Suddenly, the lead vampire came from behind Spike and wrapped the chain tightly around the would-be rescuer's neck. Spike felt the cold links digging into his skin. His attacker pulled on the chain with superhuman force.  
  
Faith took a step toward Spike, but was intercepted by the two remaining lackeys. She managed to knock one of the vamps down with a swift kick to the solar plexus, but was hit in the temple by the other. Dazed, she stepped back and fell to the ground.  
  
Another powerful tug on the chain and Spike started to see black. Suddenly, the chain fell away. Spike lurched forward onto his knees, grabbing his throat. The leader was now thrashing about, suspended by an invisible force, several feet above the ground.  
  
Emily, her eyes glassy black, stood next to her car. Her arm was held out with an open palm. She raised her hand and the lead vampire shot up another couple feet.  
  
"Adflicto," she hissed, making a fist. This caused the vampire's head to explode. Less than a second later, his body turned to ashes. Emily's lips curled upwards with satisfaction.  
  
She turned to another vampire and pointed. He flew against a nearby building and stayed there as if nailed to it. She pointed to the remaining fiend and he joined his friend on the wall. They stared at her in terror.  
  
"Deputo." She made a cutting gesture, moving her hand across her neck. Their heads rolled cleanly off their shoulders and ashes soon showered the sidewalk below.  
  
Spike rose to his feet and walked over to Faith, who was still stunned. "Are you okay?" he asked, helping her to her feet.  
  
"I…yeah," Faith said, staring at him in shock. "Why'd you help me?" she asked.  
  
"Because I'm evil," he replied, smirking.  
  
"Yeah, well, you're like the last uh, person I'd have expected—"  
  
Something whirred past Spike's ear. A wooden arrow just grazed the top of the Slayer's shoulder. The vampire turned to see where it had come from and instantly spotted a ruddy, blond-haired man in a second story window reloading his crossbow.  
  
"Get down!" he yelled, instinctively pushing Faith out of the way. Losing her balance, arms flailing upwards, she latched onto the tiny pouch, which hung from a cord around his neck. The cord snapped under the pressure of her weight and she dropped to the ground.  
  
Spike glanced up to see the crossbow aimed straight for him. He barely felt the arrow pierce his heart. A sense of peace overcame him as his body turned to ashes almost instantly. 


	14. Dazed and Confused

Chapter 14 – Dazed and Confused  
  
  
  
Emily stared at the empty space where William had stood a minute earlier. From across the street, she'd seen the arrow hit with deadly precision—straight through the heart. Her brother had been reduced to ashes almost instantly.  
  
Turning, she glared up at a man standing in a second story window of the building behind her. Leslie King hurriedly reloaded his crossbow, unaware that his life would soon be ending—horribly.  
  
Emily gestured towards the Council henchman, jerking her hand back in a pulling motion. King catapulted out of the window, flying at an accelerating pace, until he slammed against a building on the opposite side of the street. His crushed body dropped to the ground. A pool of blood spread out onto the sidewalk, framing his lifeless form.  
  
Smirking, the Wiccan turned her attention to the girl staring at her from across the street. Emily suppressed the impulse to make her implode. For some reason, William had given his life to save hers. With much effort, she kept her fists at her sides, studying Faith through narrowed eyes. She saw nothing special about her.  
  
Annoyed, she abruptly turned and got into her car. She needed to get home—to her library. There were several old spell books she had to refer to. After all, it had been many years since she'd performed her last resurrection spell.  
  
* * *  
  
Sighing with relief, Faith watched the black Mercedes as it quickly sped away and disappeared into the darkness. She'd been lucky, escaping death more than once that night. Five vamps—six if you counted Spike—had been dusted, but she'd not been responsible for killing any of them.  
  
Her fingers tightened around the small, soft pouch she'd been holding. She looked at it, turning it around in her hand and wondered what it was. Spike had been wearing it around his neck. Shrugging, she stuffed it into her pocket. She'd check it out later.  
  
She heard a soft moan coming from behind her. Collin Danvers—he was still alive. She rushed over and knelt by his side. His eyes fluttered open and he looked up at her. "What happened?" he asked.  
  
Faith stared at him uncertainly. She was almost sure that Danvers' counterpart had been aiming his crossbow at her and not at Spike. Had tonight's little exercise been more about taking out Faith than vampires? But she'd seen Danvers come to her aid. He'd risked his life to help her. What the hell was going on?  
  
"It's okay," she told him, finally. "All the vamps got dusted."  
  
Danvers winced with pain as he turned his head to look around him. "Where's Leslie?" he asked.  
  
"Oh…him. He kinda got…" She paused. 'What he deserved,' she thought. "He was killed," she replied.  
  
"Oh." Danvers frowned. He tried to prop himself up on one elbow, but was overcome by dizziness. "My head…' He said, his shoulders slumping back to the ground.  
  
"Yeah, well, we gotta get out here—like right now," Faith said uneasily. She shuddered as she thought about the girl who'd been responsible for most of the night's carnage. The Slayer had no idea who the powerful witch was or why she'd spared her, but Faith had no intention of sticking around and chancing another encounter.  
  
Slinging Danvers' arm over her shoulder, she helped the large man to his feet. She then half dragged him to a black Range Rover parked a little over a block away from the ambush site.  
  
She needed to get answers. Had the Council turned on her? If so, why? She had to find Giles. He was her Watcher. He had to know something. But could she trust him?  
  
Things were so messed up. She reflected on how Spike, an evil vamp, had died saving her. And then there was Leslie King, who was supposed to be a good guy, yet he'd tried to kill her. Who was good? Who was evil? She shook her head—she didn't know anymore.  
  
* * *  
  
Overcome by another wave of queasiness, Buffy leaned over the toilet, opened her mouth and convulsed. Nothing came out. Her stomach had been empty for quite a while; it had been a very long morning.  
  
'Never again!' she thought to herself, as she slumped forward on the porcelain seat. 'Alcohol and Buffy—bad combination!'  
  
Her head was throbbing and the room spun when she tried to stand. She lay down on the floor and looked up at the ceiling. The spinning subsided, but her head. 'Never again!'  
  
The Slayer closed her eyes and rested on the cool ceramic tile. It felt nice. The coolness reminded her of Spike. She opened her eyes. 'Oh.' What was it she'd realized the night before? She sat up and the room spun around at a dizzying speed. She slumped back down, thumping her head against the hard floor. More pain. She thumped her head again, on purpose this time. 'Owwww!' She did it again…and again…until… She winced—the truth hurt.  
  
* * *  
  
After resting on the bathroom floor for what seemed like hours, Buffy realized for the first time that Spike was strangely absent. She frowned. Why hadn't he come back? The night before, he'd told her that he'd 'be back in a bit.' Well, it'd been more than 'a bit'—a lot more. With much effort, she slowly stood up, fighting nausea and more dizziness. The room whizzed around her, relentlessly.  
  
'Again with the spinning!' She was reminded of riding on a merry-go-round as a little girl. She wondered when the ride would end.  
  
Buffy dragged herself into the other room and paused at the desk. Catching her breath, she looked down at the small tablet with her barely legible handwriting on it. Three words caught her attention. She gently traced over them with her fingers. 'I love him.'  
  
What was it she felt? Happiness? Horror? Maybe a bit of both. She loved Spike. Despite all of her efforts not to. She'd finally admitted it to herself for the first time. Maybe it was fate. She couldn't think of two people LESS compatible—a slayer and a vampire. 'Okay, yeah it's been done before…but Angel had a soul. He was good.'  
  
Could Spike be good? He did seem to be acting rather 'goodish' lately. She scowled. He also happened to be 'gone-ish'. Where was he?  
  
She stood up and went to the window. He was probably out gallivanting, taking advantage of another Emily induced, cloudy day. Perhaps he'd come and gone while she was out cold. That made sense. She glanced around the room for a note, but didn't see any.  
  
She pulled back the drapes. The sun was shining. Squinting, she held her hand in front of her eyes to shield them from the bright light. The warm rays gave her a chill. He wasn't out gallivanting. He hadn't come back. But, he'd said he would…  
  
Dazed, she let go of the drapes and the room went dim again. The darkness comforted her, but something wasn't right. She could feel it.  
  
'Oh God!' She felt a sense of panic slowly overcome her. Buffy stumbled over to the bed and sat down. She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. 'What should I do?' she asked herself.  
  
After some time, the Slayer stood up and retrieved her address book from her carry-on. She'd do what she always did whenever she was confused or unsure. She'd call Giles. 


	15. The Dead Truth

Chapter 15 – The Dead Truth  
  
  
  
Faith stood by the doorway of the warehouse apartment, looking around for anything she might've forgotten. She didn't have much. Everything she owned was now stuffed in the canvas duffel slung over her shoulder.  
  
'Why does it always end up like this?'  
  
She'd hoped it would be different this time. As usual, she'd been wrong.  
  
The Slayer glanced at Danvers, who was lying unconscious on the cot. She wondered what she was going to do with him. He was hurt—probably just a concussion, but he needed to be taken to a doctor. He had seemed disoriented in the car, mumbling to himself about King and Travers…and some 'alternate' plan.  
  
'What do I care, anyway? He's one of them, right?'  
  
She considered leaving him there.  
  
'But he might know something,' she thought, biting her lip.  
  
Faith went out to the car, putting her duffel in the back. She returned to the apartment and walked over to Danvers. Hesitating, she bent down and lifted him up.  
  
He opened his eyes, confused.  
  
"Wh…where are you taking me?" he asked groggily.  
  
Grunting softly, Faith hoisted him up over one shoulder. It appeared impossible for a girl of her size to carry such a large man. Fortunately, she had superhuman strength.  
  
"We're going to see Giles," she replied, her teeth gritted. "To get some answers."  
  
* * *  
  
Giles awoke with a start. He'd been in the middle of a very pleasant dream involving Jenny Calendar. Although his old girlfriend had been dead for several years, she still visited him, occasionally, in h is sleep. He always looked forward to those visits.  
  
As he sat up, his hand automatically went to his nightstand for his glasses. He put them on and looked around the room.  
  
Hearing a crash, he quickly stood up and crept to the living room. He stopped when he heard another sound—creaking springs, as if someone had just sat down on his sofa.  
  
"Who's there?" he called out.  
  
He squinted in the darkness, seeing the outline of a girl standing by the couch. The shadow girl approached him.  
  
"Just me Giles," the dark form said, getting closer. "You know…your Slayer."  
  
The Watcher frowned.  
  
"Buffy?" he asked, uncertain.  
  
The shadow stopped and cursed under its breath.  
  
"No, you moron!" it said irritably.  
  
Giles reached for the light switch and flicked it on. The room was suddenly illuminated and he found himself standing face-to-face with the girl he had indeed been assigned to 'watch'.  
  
"Faith," he muttered, surprised.  
  
The Slayer smirked at him. "Yeah, just thought I'd pay my Watcher a little visit."  
  
Giles glanced at the wall clock and scratched his head. "It's the middle of the night. What's going on?"  
  
Faith eyed him suspiciously. "I was hoping you could tell me," she replied.  
  
"What do you mean?" Giles asked, his brow furrowed.  
  
"I mean…why are the supposedly 'good guys' trying to kill me?"  
  
"Kill you? Who's trying kill you?"  
  
Faith's eyes narrowed. "Like you don't know."  
  
"I…I don't," Giles said.  
  
Faith studied him carefully. He seemed to be telling the truth.  
  
"Honestly, Faith—"  
  
"That Council guy…you know Leslie something or other…one of the thugs they assigned to me." She paused. "I swear he tried to kill me…last night with a crossbow--only he missed."  
  
She recalled how Spike had been killed, shuddering at the image of his ashes showering her. The arrow had been meant for her. She knew it.  
  
"I…don't…" Giles scratched his head. "Surely, you must be mistaken. I can't believe that Council would have you killed after only just reinstating you. There must be some—"  
  
"She's right—it's true." Both Watcher and Slayer turned to Collin Danvers, who was now sitting up on the sofa. "Travers…." He continued. "He came up with an alternate plan, should Faith prove to be a 'problem'. Leslie…he must've gone to Travers and told him…that he thought Faith was unstable. They must've decided to put the alternate plan into action."  
  
"Alternate plan?" Giles asked, sounding puzzled.  
  
"Yeah," Danvers replied grimly. "If she became a 'problem', Travers wanted Faith dead."  
  
* * *  
  
The phone rang five times before the answering machine picked up.  
  
"Yes, um, Giles here," the awkward sounding voice said. "Well, actually I'm not…here. Ergo, the recording. Please, if you will, leave a message after the tone."  
  
Buffy hesitated, then spoke.  
  
"Giles, it's Buffy. I'm in London, and I really, really need to ta—"  
  
"Buffy?" It was Giles.  
  
Buffy sighed with relief. "Thank God you're there. I really—"  
  
"Buffy, where are you, exactly?" He sounded urgent.  
  
"Like I said to the machine, I'm here…in London. It's a long story. I know that you're not going to approve, but—"  
  
"Where in London?"  
  
Buffy frowned. "At a hotel. But actually, I'm worried about Spike. He was supposed to come back last night…only he didn't…"  
  
"You were with Spike?"  
  
"Well…sorta... But like I said—"  
  
"Buffy, stay put. We're coming to you. There's an er, situation going on right now."  
  
"Huh? What situation? What's going on?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Just give me your hotel address and room number and I'll fill you in when we get there," Giles replied.  
  
"We?" Buffy said. "Who's we?"  
  
Giles glanced at Faith. "I…I'm here with a collegue," he said. "I'll explain everything soon."  
  
Buffy gave him the requested information and hung up. Frowning, she sat on the bed and waited for Giles and company to arrive.  
  
* * *  
  
About twenty minutes later, Buffy heard a knock on her door. She rushed to open it. The familiar face of her former Watcher was a welcome sight.  
  
"Giles," she said, giving the man a bear hug. "It's so good to—"  
  
She opened her eyes and was surprised to see another familiar, but not-so- welcome face, standing a few feet behind the Watcher.  
  
"Faith."  
  
Buffy released Giles abruptly and stared at the girl who had caused her much pain in the past.  
  
"What's she doing here?" she asked, staring at Faith, her stance defensive.  
  
Buffy's gaze then went past the dark-haired Slayer, to the tall, broad- shouldered man standing behind her. She frowned. "Who's he?"  
  
Giles cleared his throat. "Yes, there's much to talk about--preferably, in private." He gestured for Buffy to let them into the hotel room.  
  
Buffy stepped back and let them enter the room. Faith immediately made herself comfortable on the bed. Giles remained standing and the other man slumped down onto the chair by the window.  
  
"So," the blonde Slayer said, glancing around at her newly arrived guests. "What's going on?" She looked specifically at Giles.  
  
Giles paused before speaking. "This is complicated," he began. "The Council has reinstated Faith as a Slayer. They've assigned me to be her Watcher."  
  
"But, she's…" Buffy's top lip curled upward disdainfully. "How could they possibly trust her—after all that she's done?"  
  
"Apparently, they don't," Giles muttered grimly.  
  
"B," Faith said, leaning forward on the bed, "I know that you and I've had our fair share of differences…"  
  
Buffy's eyes narrowed as she looked at the other Slayer.  
  
"But you've got to believe me," Faith continued. "Sitting in jail these past few years has helped me realize that I was wrong. I came here to make things right. I thought they were giving me a second chance…" She looked at Giles, uncertainly.  
  
"And I should believe you because…? Why now?" Buffy said, unconvinced.  
  
"Buffy," Giles said, getting her attention. "I believe Faith is sincere. The problem is…the Council…they double crossed her. They didn't give her a chance as promised. Last night, one of the Council men tried to kill her."  
  
"Yeah," Faith added. "If it hadn't been for Spike—"  
  
Buffy's head jerked towards Faith. "Spike?" she said, softly. "Where is he?"  
  
Faith looked at Giles uncertainly. "He's…" she began.  
  
The Watcher approached Buffy and put his hand on her shoulder. "He's dead, Buffy," he said, quietly. Although he'd never liked Spike, Giles couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness. The vampire had proved himself noble in the end.  
  
Buffy stared at Giles in disbelief. She felt tears starting to form. She brought her hand up to her mouth and held it there. "No," she whispered. "It can't be true."  
  
"He saved my life," Faith said. "If he hadn't come when he did--"  
  
"Oh my God." Buffy said.  
  
Suddenly, she felt alone—like she was the only one in the room, or the entire world for that matter. Nobody could understand how she felt. She'd kept her feelings buried inside her all this time, denying the truth. She'd told no one. And now it was too late.  
  
Buffy's legs gave way beneath her and she began to fall. Catching her, Giles propped her up gently.  
  
"Buffy," he said, concerned. "Are you alright?"  
  
Everything was a blur. She closed her eyes. She wished that she'd told Spike the truth. If only she'd figured it out sooner. She loved him…  
  
She felt a horrible pain in her chest. And now he'd never know. It didn't matter anymore.  
  
He was dead. 


	16. Bringing Back the Undead

Chapter 16 – Bringing Back the Undead  
  
  
  
He felt strange—free, floating.  
  
'Where am I?' he wondered.  
  
All he could see was darkness. All he could hear was silence. It was peaceful.  
  
He was drifting aimlessly. Memories floated around him like clouds.  
  
Pleasant recollections, about his childhood, his family--they seemed so real. He could almost touch them.  
  
More memories—these were not as welcome. Harsh, black—terrible images of horrors committed by a monster.  
  
'No! It couldn't be. That wasn't me!'  
  
But the images kept coming, on and on--over a hundred years of cruelty, death and unspeakable acts.  
  
'No.'  
  
He felt it for the first time in over a century: remorse. It came to him, at last.  
  
The visions continued relentlessly, with dizzying speed, until, finally, there was peace again. And he saw her.  
  
'Buffy.'  
  
His memory of the Slayer soothed him. The terrible recollections receded. In the end, perhaps she'd saved him from existing for an eternity with memories of horror and death. He'd redeemed himself in the end—because of her.  
  
He loved her. He would always love her. And now, it was all he had left.  
  
He realized where he was. He'd heard of it once before. He couldn't remember exactly where or when.  
  
He wasn't in a hell dimension. He was thankful for that. But, it wasn't 'heaven'—if there was such a place. It was someplace in-between.  
  
Limbo—nowhere, really.  
  
He wondered how long he would be trapped there alone.  
  
Forever?  
  
'Bloody hell!'  
  
* * *  
  
In the large, underground chamber located beneath her family home, Emily stood scanning the shelf in front of her for an item she'd acquired almost eighty years prior.  
  
"Ah, here it is," she said, standing on tiptoe, but unable to reach the dusty wooden box. She stepped back, hand still held up, and flicked her wrist.  
  
"Exorior."  
  
The box floated forward and landed softly at her feet, like a feather drifting to the ground. The Wiccan opened the crate and took out a coarse, yellowed burial shroud. She'd acquired the rare artifact on a whim from a monastery.  
  
Emily carried it over to a large, wooden worktable and placed it next to several other items she'd previously laid out: various herbs, powders and vials of potions. All had come from a private collection that made the inventory at the Magic Box seem laughable.  
  
She sat on a stool and leaned over an open book. After doing a considerable amount of research, she'd chosen this particular spell. She reread it carefully. Although there was some uncertainty as to its outcome, she felt it was her only real option.  
  
There were only a handful of spells for resurrecting vampires and the other spells all resulted in the dead coming back entirely demon, savage, and uncontrollable.  
  
She looked up and stared at the earthen wall in front of her.  
  
William would not have wanted that. Although a demon had taken his soul, he'd still been more man than monster. His actions—saving the boy near the bar, and later giving his life to help the girl—had proved that, as did his love for the Slayer. She would've rather left him dead, than bring him back anything less.  
  
Her fingers traced the faded inks—words scrawled in Latin. It was ancient spell, and had been performed only a handful of times. Each time the party resurrected had come back different: Once human, once vampire, and other times, something in-between.  
  
Emily frowned. She'd always been interested in magic because it was akin to science. If you did things right, if you knew what you were doing, it was, for the most part--exact. This was anything but.  
  
She wondered why the outcomes had been different and thought that, perhaps, it had something to do with the individual resurrected. What form would William take—if given the choice?  
  
Emily scanned the list of items required to resurrect her brother. She had almost everything. Just one more thing to get:  
  
Slayer's blood.  
  
She hoped William would forgive her for what she had to do. It was the only way.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Faith shot a worried look at Buffy, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the group, but not really seeing. Buffy would nod her head occasionally when addressed, but it was clear to everyone present that her thoughts were elsewhere.  
  
"So," Faith said, addressing Giles who was seated at the desk. "What do we do now?"  
  
The Watcher took off his glasses and began cleaning them.  
  
"Good question." He paused, then put his glasses back on.  
  
"I think that you," he said, looking at Faith, "should stay here with Buffy. The Council won't be looking for you in a place like this." He gestured around the room. "It's much too…"  
  
"Classy?" Faith offered.  
  
"Um, yes." Giles readjusted his glasses. "Danvers and I need to report back to the Council. I suspect that they'll have discovered King's body by now and will be trying to find out what's happened." He glanced at Danvers. "We need to come up with a story…to buy some time."  
  
Danvers nodded. He didn't believe in lying, but he knew that, in this case, it was the right thing to do.  
  
"So, what will you tell them?" Faith asked.  
  
"Well," the Watcher said, scratching his head. "We can start with the truth about what actually happened last night: the five vampires, Spike, the Wiccan—"  
  
"No," Buffy spoke up suddenly. "Don't tell them about Spike."  
  
Giles looked at her with concern. "All right," he said gently. "We can leave out the part about Spike. I guess it's not that impor…" He let his sentence trail off as he realized how insensitive his words would sound.  
  
He cleared his throat. "The Council will be concerned about this Witch, whoever she may be, if she's as powerful as you've described. She'll serve as a diversion." He glanced at Danvers. "We'll tell them that you were knocked unconscious. When you came to, Faith and the Wiccan were gone. You came to see me, looking for Faith, but I hadn't seen her. We'll tell them that Faith probably went after the Witch, or was captured. They'll concentrate their efforts on finding them…together."  
  
"Think they'll buy it?" Faith looked skeptical.  
  
"Why wouldn't they?" Giles replied. "Danvers and I have both sworn an oath, part of which includes telling the truth."  
  
* * *  
  
After the two men left, Faith went to the window and drew back the drapes. The bright sunshine immediately transformed the room. Giles had specifically told her to keep the drapes closed, but she couldn't stand the room's almost palpable gloominess.  
  
She paced the room, inwardly cursing her situation. She hated being cooped up and would've preferred running away. The only problem was, she was in a strange city, a strange country, with no passport, I.D. or money. It would be nearly impossible for her to get back to the States on her own.  
  
'This sucks!' she thought, angrily clenching her teeth.  
  
Buffy looked at her suddenly, as if she'd heard her thoughts. But the blonde girl's eyes were still misty and distant.  
  
Faith stopped pacing and walked over to the bed where Buffy was sitting.  
  
"Hey," she said gently. She seated herself next to the girl who she'd always envied.  
  
"I'm sorry B, about Spike." She started to put her hand on the Buffy's back, but closed it into a fist, withdrawing at the last moment.  
  
"I guess he must've really loved you," Faith continued. She shrugged. "Well, then again, doesn't everyone?" There was a tinge of bitterness in her voice and she felt jealousy stirring within her. It unsettled her and she tried to shake it off.  
  
"But, I think he really did. He even changed for you—became a better, uh, person, I guess. I mean why else would he have saved me like he did?"  
  
Buffy turned to Faith, her eyes wet with fresh tears.  
  
"He can't be dead," she said, quietly determined. "No more than I am."  
  
Faith shook her head. "But he is. I saw him die."  
  
"There are ways," Buffy said, sounding odd, as if in a trance. "I'm living proof…"  
  
"Buffy, you're not making sense. What ways? What are you talking about?"  
  
Buffy felt the fog lifting. She was becoming focused. The answer was suddenly clear.  
  
"I need to…" Buffy stood up and went to the window. She looked out at the darkening sky. The clouds were moving in quickly and angrily. The sky was becoming a swirling mass of gray.  
  
"I need to find her. She's the only one who can bring him back."  
  
"Find who?" Faith asked, confused.  
  
"Emily," Buffy replied. Somberly, she watched the storm continue to grow, throwing a shadow over the city. 


	17. A Slayer's Choice

Chapter 17 – A Slayer's Choice  
  
  
  
"Emily?" Faith whispered. A sense of understanding came over her as soon as she had uttered the name. "The witch."  
  
Buffy turned away from the window. Although she now faced the other Slayer, she looked past her, at Faith's elongated shadow on the wall. She nodded, barely moving her head.  
  
"But she's dangerous," Faith said, frowning. "You should've seen what she did to that King guy."  
  
"She's the only one I know of who can bring Spike back."  
  
"Bring Spike back? B, you can't be serious."  
  
"Why not?" Buffy asked, now focusing on Faith. Her eyes challenging the other girl. "They brought me back—took me out of heaven. I'm sure Spike's not…where I was. He's probably…" She paused, not wanting to think about the vampire being trapped in a hell dimension. "I can't leave him there."  
  
Faith looked at Buffy and bit down on her bottom lip. "Giles told me about your friends bringing you back," she said. "Don't get me wrong. I think it's great that you're back, but I know spells like that are dangerous—a lot could go wrong. If Giles knew what you were thinking—"  
  
"Giles doesn't need to know," Buffy snapped, glaring at the other girl. Her look then softened. "I know he wouldn't understand—no one can. It's just--I have to bring Spike back. When I found out he was dead…" She looked down at the carpet, feeling her throat tighten.  
  
Faith lowered her head as well. She could relate to pain. "You loved him, didn't you?"  
  
Buffy brushed away tears. She closed her eyes, not answering the question.  
  
"But B, if you brought Spike back... Think about it--that chip he had in his head…it wouldn't--"  
  
"It doesn't matter."  
  
"Doesn't matter? Are you nuts?" Agitated, Faith shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back. "He wasn't like Angel. He didn't a soul, remember? He'd be able to kill again…and you know he would."  
  
"He wouldn't."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"I just do." But Buffy questioned herself—how could she be so sure? She thought about Spike and how she had doubted him--almost to the end. But somehow, now, she knew she could trust him.  
  
* * *  
  
Quentin Travers glared at the two men seated opposite him. He made a fist and slammed it down angrily, on his desk.  
  
"Leslie King was one of our best men," he said, looking at Danvers. "This witch you mentioned—who is she? And what was she doing at the ambush site last night?  
  
The large man shrank back in his chair. "I honestly don't know. She came out of nowhere." He swallowed hard. "It's strange. She was responsible for killing at least three of the vampires we were up against. Perhaps she had a vendetta against them…"  
  
"And King…why would she have killed him?"  
  
"I…I was already knocked unconscious by then. I didn't see how he was killed, or what happened to Faith." Danvers looked down, unable to look his superior in the eye.  
  
Giles leaned forward. "We believe that Faith may have gone after her…or perhaps was captured."  
  
Travers looked at him, thoughtfully. "Yes, Rupert, you're probably right." He pressed his fingers together in front of him, making a steeple with his hands. "We need to find out who this witch is. She may be a threat to us. The way King was killed last night indicates that she must be powerful. I'll put a team on it right away. We'll get to the bottom of this."  
  
Travers rose, indicating the meeting was over. Giles and Danvers stood up simultaneously and exchanged a glance. Wordlessly, they left the room.  
  
* * *  
  
Emily got out of the black Mercedes and tilted her face upward. The sky was now layered with clouds in various shades of gray. She could feel electricity in the air. A warm wind lightly brushed her face, reminding her of fingers caressing her cheek--a man's touch. She smiled at the memory.  
  
She took in the elegant architecture of the Victorian-era hotel, then straightened the jacket of her tailored black suit and headed for the entrance. The bellman nodded to her and smiled. She returned the gesture and strode gracefully past him.  
  
She was going to see the Slayer. Emily thought about the girl she'd briefly met once before—the girl William had loved. She then thought about the spell. If there were any other way…  
  
She sighed softly. She would talk to the Slayer—convince her to come willingly. After all, there was a chance she would survive this. 'I'm not a monster,' Emily told herself. 'I'm not—'  
  
She paused in mid-step. 'But what if the Slayer refuses?'  
  
Emily frowned and resumed walking. Stopping in front of the elevator, she raised a well-manicured hand and delicately pressed the button. She bowed her head and stared down at her designer shoes.  
  
She would do what she had to. She could be very convincing, if necessary.  
  
* * *  
  
There was a knock at the door. The two surprised slayers glanced in the direction of the sound then looked at each other. Neither girl was expecting a visitor. Both were uncertain as to what to do. Finally, Buffy walked to the door and looked through the peephole.  
  
She took a step back and wordlessly opened the door.  
  
"Emily," she said as if she had been expecting her. She let the vampire in.  
  
Emily's lips were fixed with a cold smile as she walked past Buffy. She glanced at the other girl standing by the window and paused. The second girl was familiar to her—she was the one William had rescued.  
  
"So," the Wiccan said, eyeing Faith. "You two know each other?" She turned to Buffy.  
  
"Faith is a slayer, like me."  
  
Emily's eyes widened with surprise. "Two slayers? Is it possible?"  
  
"Apparently," Buffy replied.  
  
The Witch nodded thoughtfully. "Very interesting," she murmured to herself.  
  
Buffy squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "Emily," she said, "I…I actually wanted to see you."  
  
"Really?" the vampire said, intrigued.  
  
"Yes," Buffy continued. "It's about Spike. William. I want you to bring him back."  
  
Emily smiled again, this time showing a row of perfect white teeth. "Then we're thinking alike, you and I," she said, "I want him back also. There's just one problem…"  
  
"Problem?"  
  
"Yes. I've done my research and found a workable spell. I've gotten almost everything I need, but there's just one more thing."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
Emily ran her tongue over her bottom lip and looked at Faith. "Slayer's blood," she replied evenly.  
  
Buffy took a step back, staring at the Wiccan. "Figures," she muttered.  
  
"So," Emily said, looking first at one slayer then the other. "Who's it going to be?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Buffy's eyes narrowed. "There's no question here about who. I'm the one who wants him resurrected. Faith has nothing to do with this."  
  
Emily looked doubtful. "William died saving her, certainly—"  
  
"No!" Buffy interjected. "It has to be me."  
  
"You could die."  
  
"All the more reason that it has to be me." Buffy glanced at the other Slayer. It was ironic. A few years before, she would've killed Faith to save Angel. But it was different now. Faith was different—and she was too.  
  
The vampire laughed suddenly. "I can see why William loved you. You certainly have a heroic quality about you."  
  
Faith, who had been silently watching the exchange between Buffy and the Wiccan, cleared her throat. She had seen an opportunity—a chance for atonement. She couldn't let it slip away.  
  
"Buffy," she said, taking a step forward. "I think that I should be the one…my blood…"  
  
Buffy stared at the other Slayer, confused. She hadn't believed Faith capable of such selflessness.  
  
"It just makes sense," Faith continued. "I've pretty much screwed up my life anyway." She attempted a smile. "If I die, another slayer gets called. If you die, there's just me. Now, could you imagine the whole weight of the world on my shoulders? Pretty scary, huh?"  
  
"I can't let you," Buffy whispered, still not believing what she was hearing.  
  
Faith looked at Emily. "You know it has to be me, don't you?"  
  
Emily nodded. "Yes," she replied, glancing at Buffy. "I don't think William would ever forgive me if I brought him back into a world which didn't have you in it." She waved her hand in the Slayer's direction.  
  
"Obdormio."  
  
Buffy crumpled to the floor, instantly asleep.  
  
Emily turned to Faith. Her crimson lips twisted into a smile. "Let's go."  
  
Faith stepped over Buffy's unconscious body and followed the Witch out of the room.  
  
* * *  
  
Giles parked his car on a side street several blocks from the hotel. Although he was fairly certain he had not been followed, he wanted to be extra sure. He quickly ducked into the nearest store, not noticing until afterwards that it sold women's lingerie.  
  
"Lovely," he muttered under his breath, carefully averting his eyes from a display of lacy bras.  
  
Trying to look inconspicuous, he pretended to shop, sorting through the nearest rack of women's panties. He glanced out the window but saw nothing out of the ordinary—just people going about their business.  
  
"May I help you?" a pretty, young sales girl asked, smiling at the Watcher.  
  
Startled, Giles looked down, finding his hands on a lacy, red satin thong . He released the undergarment and stepped away from the rack, managing an embarrassed smile.  
  
"Um, no, actually…I'm just looking," he replied.  
  
"Well, let me know if you need any help," the sales girl said and moved on to another part of the store.  
  
Giles sighed and turned his attention back to the window. There was still no sign of his having been followed. Satisfied, he left the shop and headed for the hotel.  
  
Behind him, a man in a dark gray suit stepped out from an alley and began following the Watcher.  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy awoke to the sound of knocking. It started out softly but grew louder and more urgent.  
  
"Buffy," she heard Giles' voice calling. "Are you there?"  
  
She shook her head and looked around, wondering why she was on the floor. Still groggy, she stood up and opened the door. She saw her former Watcher standing in the hallway.  
  
"Giles?"  
  
The Watcher's eyes widened at her disheveled appearance.  
  
"What's happened? Are you all right?" he asked, concerned  
  
Buffy placed a hand on her forehead and leaned against the doorframe. "Yeah," she replied, feeling dazed. "I must've…" She turned and glanced around the room. "Where's Faith? And Emily?"  
  
Giles frowned. He looked past Buffy, but saw that she was alone. "Let's get inside," he said, ushering the Slayer back into the room and shutting the door.  
  
He turned to her. "Buffy, what's happened? Who's Emily?" The name seemed strangely familiar.  
  
Buffy looked uncertain. "Emily is…" She thought about the consequences of telling Giles the truth. Would he tell the Council? Could they prevent Emily from resurrecting Spike? But Buffy knew she couldn't let Faith die. They had to find her.  
  
"Emily's the Wiccan," she said finally. "She's also Spike's sister."  
  
"Spike's sister?"  
  
"Yeah, she's a vampire too. And she has Faith."  
  
"Oh dear," Giles muttered.  
  
There was knock on the door. Giles and Buffy looked at each other, surprised. Giles peered through the peephole and saw a man in a gray suit standing in the hallway. He recognized him immediately, a member of the Watchers' Council—one of Quentin Travers' assistants. Hesitantly he opened the door.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Giles said, addressing the man.  
  
"Travers had me follow you," the assistant replied. "He had a hunch that you were hiding something." He glanced at Buffy. "Who's the girl?"  
  
Giles looked at Buffy, but didn't answer.  
  
The man pulled out a cellular phone from his coat pocket. "I'm calling Travers," he said. "I trust you'll explain to him what's going on here."  
  
Giles nodded. "You can tell Quentin… We'll tell him everything we know. We've got to work together now—to find the witch. She has Faith." 


	18. Resurrection

Chapter 18 – Resurrection  
  
  
  
"Emily Pierce," Quentin Travers murmured thoughtfully. He had heard of the witch. Although she was supposedly long dead, her mastery of the dark arts had made her something of a legend with the Council Wiccans. He surveyed the three individuals sitting in his office. "But she died over a century ago. How could it be possible?"  
  
Giles cleared his throat. "I know the records show that she died in a fire, but she must have been turned sometime before that. Apparently, she's a vampire now."  
  
Travers pressed his lips together forming a straight line. "I see. But what business would she have with Faith? I don't…" A look of understanding suddenly crossed his face. "Are they working together—Faith and the Wiccan? Is that why King was killed?"  
  
"No!" Buffy said, frowning. "Faith…" She hesitated, feeling conflicted. She hadn't told anyone, even Giles about Spike, or Emily's plans to resurrect him. "Faith has nothing to do with her. Emily was looking for me."  
  
Giles glanced worriedly at the Slayer. "We believe that Faith may be in grave danger," he said. "It's imperative that we find her. There isn't much time."  
  
Travers observed the Watcher with a critical eye then glanced at Danvers, who was seated next to Giles. "Well, perhaps if the two of you had been honest with me in the first place, Faith wouldn't be in this rather dire situation. I'm disappointed…in both of you."  
  
"If we had been honest with you," Giles countered angrily. "I'm sure that Faith would still be in danger—though perhaps not from the witch. You're not the only one who's disappointed, Quentin."  
  
A hint of surprise briefly crossed Travers' face. "So, you know then." He shrugged. "I do what is necessary."  
  
Giles' eyes blazed. "You asked me to serve as her Watcher," he said, struggling to contain his anger. "Yet you never even consulted me before you decided to—"  
  
"I suppose you don't agree with my decision on this matter," Travers said. "But you don't understand the Council like I do—how things really work. Believe me, Rupert. I was doing you a favor. The situation with Faith—it needed to be handled. I saw no reason for you to dirty your hands in this mess."  
  
"I still don't…" Giles paused, collecting himself. None of this mattered now. Arguing was pointless. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly.  
  
"We're wasting time," he said finally. "We need to figure out where Emily is—so we can find Faith before it's too late."  
  
Travers agreed. "This Witch is clearly a threat to us. I'll send someone to the Dungeon right away to pull her record."  
  
Giles frowned. "Actually, I've recently seen the record on Emily Pierce. I don't think it will help us. It ends with her death over a century ago."  
  
"Well, it's all we've got," Travers said grimly. "I'll send someone for it anyway. Maybe there's something you didn't see. I'll also have a team of men go back to the ambush site--perhaps there are some clues. But…" He shook his head.  
  
There was a long silence. Travers turned to Buffy. "Miss Summers, you've had contact with the Wiccan—any ideas of where we should look?"  
  
"I…" Buffy faltered. She recalled Emily's designer clothes and her apparent taste for finer things. She doubted they would find her in a crypt. It would have to be a house—a mansion, maybe. "I think that she'd be in a house," she said finally.  
  
"Well, that certainly narrows it down," Travers commented sarcastically.  
  
Buffy thought about Emily's love for her brother: feelings strong enough for her to want him resurrected. Would the vampire have similar attachments to other things that she'd cared for as a human? The Slayer remembered her visit to Spike's past and the large home filled with family heirlooms and portraits.  
  
"Maybe it does." She paused, biting her lip. Part of her wanted to hold back--to give Emily time to perform the spell. If only bringing back Spike didn't mean possible death for Faith. If she had a choice…  
  
But of course she didn't. She had to do what was right—as she always did.  
  
"I think we should check out her old family home," the Slayer said quietly. "Just a hunch, but it's the first place I'd look."  
  
* * *  
  
Emily moved about the cave-like chamber, making the final preparations for the resurrection spell. The secret room was located beneath the house and was accessed via a secret passage from her study. Her father had used the room during his days as a Watcher and it was the perfect place to conduct her magic. She sprinkled various dark, powdery substances onto a stone slab, then draped an ancient, yellowed shroud over the ashen mixture.  
  
Emily next lifted an oversized chalice of tarnished silver and examined its contents. A putrid, treacle-like liquid covered the bottom of the cup. She carefully placed the chalice on a stone step near the head of the slab.  
  
Smiling with satisfaction, she grabbed a large, ceremonial knife with an ornately carved handle and looked at the girl standing nervously in the corner.  
  
"It's time," the Witch said, gesturing for Faith to come forward.  
  
The Slayer hesitated, her eyes darting to the doorway. She thought about escaping, but knew it was too late. Emily could easily stop her with a word.  
  
Sensing Faith's uncertainty, Emily crossed the room and put a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder  
  
"You won't feel any pain," Emily said, with compassion that seemed practiced. "And there is a chance that you'll survive this. You'll lose a great deal of blood—the chalice must be filled, but I will stop your bleeding as soon I have enough."  
  
The vampire nodded at a man dressed in a dark suit, who was standing quietly in the shadows.  
  
"Max, my driver, will take you to the hospital immediately after…" The corners of her mouth turned upwards. "You see, I'm not a monster."  
  
Faith glanced at the chauffeur. "Guess it's too late to change my mind about this," she half whispered. She looked at Emily and swallowed. "Just get on with it."  
  
Emily took hold of the Slayer's shaking hand and guided her to the head of the slab. He pushed down on her shoulder, forcing her to kneel on the floor, before the chalice.  
  
Standing behind Faith, the Wiccan placed a hand on her head.  
  
"Torpeo."  
  
Faith fell forward, nearly knocking over the large silver cup. Emily caught her, then glanced at Max, who came forward and held the girl upright, positioning her arms over the chalice. Emily gripped the knife a little tighter and placed its sharp edge across Faith's upturned wrists.  
  
With a flash of excitement in her eyes, the Wiccan began the incantation.  
  
"Ancient Ones,  
  
"I implore you.  
  
"A Son of Darkness  
  
"Has fallen.  
  
"Let him rise again  
  
"From the ashes.  
  
"Accept this offering  
  
"Of blood  
  
"From the Chosen One.  
  
"Guide William back  
  
"From beyond the Veil.  
  
"Refero me Frater."  
  
With a quick, fluid motion, Emily sliced into Faith's wrists. Blood streamed from the wounds and fell into the silver cup. Its contents began to hiss and smoke.  
  
When the chalice was nearly full, Emily stared at the Slayer's open cuts and hesitated. She ran her tongue over her lower lip.  
  
"Desino cruos."  
  
The crimson stream immediately ceased. Emily dropped the knife and eagerly lifted the chalice with both hands. She nodded to Max, who dragged the unconscious slayer out of the room.  
  
Eyes gleaming, the Wiccan stood over the stone slab and held the chalice high. Slowly, she poured the dark liquid over the yellowed shroud. The bloody mixture soaked into the cloth, until it was completely red.  
  
"Accept this offering  
  
"Of blood  
  
"From the Chosen One.  
  
"Guide William back  
  
"From beyond the Veil.  
  
"Refero me Frater."  
  
She repeated the incantation, watching the bloodied shroud with anticipation.  
  
Her eyes widened as a man's form pushed up from beneath the cloth. The crimson receded into the shroud's center until it was dry and yellowed, once again.  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy paused and looked up at the old Victorian mansion. It was just as she'd remembered. Though more than a century older, little had changed. She recalled going back in time…and meeting William. She smiled as she thought the man Spike had been before becoming a vampire. He'd been sweet and thoughtful. So different from Spike—and yet strangely similar.  
  
She bit her bottom lip and looked away, feeling a combination of excitement, fear and longing. Would her hunch be right? Would they find Emily here? Had she already performed the spell?  
  
Their party consisted of five besides herself: Giles, Danvers, a Wiccan, and two more from Council's Elite squad of assassins. Travers was overseeing the witch-hunt from Headquarters.  
  
Buffy hastened to catch up with Giles and Danvers, who were already at the front door. The remaining members of the party were staking out the back of the house. They were all here to observe and investigate. Perhaps they'd get lucky.  
  
Buffy wondered what would happen if they actually did find Emily. She shuddered. A powerful witch to start with, she'd had over a century to hone her skills. They could've brought every member of the Watcher organization and still have been no match for William's sister.  
  
Reaching the front step, she turned to a nervous-looking Giles.  
  
"So what do we do now?" she asked. "Ring the doorbell?"  
  
The Watcher looked dubious. "I suppose so," he answered, glancing at Danvers. The tall man shrugged. "Perhaps the best approach is the direct one." He pressed the button and a melodic chiming could be heard from inside the house.  
  
The three figures waited nervously for several minutes.  
  
Buffy frowned and looked into a window.  
  
"Can't really see anything because of the drapes," she muttered. "But there are lights on inside."  
  
They waited several minutes more.  
  
"Okay, I say we just kinda break the door down," she suggested. "Now, I'm not really familiar with the laws in this country--me being an out-of- towner and all…but is breaking and entering a crime here?"  
  
Giles rolled his eyes. "Buffy—"  
  
She smirked. "Just thought I'd check before…"  
  
With a leaping kick, Buffy knocked the heavy wooden door onto a wine- colored Persian rug.  
  
* * *  
  
"William," Emily whispered. She hesitated for a second before pulling back the top of shroud. She let out a small sigh of relief as she gazed down at her brother lying, bare and still, on the stone slab. His hair was the chestnut brown color she had remembered--wavy and a bit unruly. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping.  
  
"William," she said again, a little louder and with a touch of urgency.  
  
His eyes opened suddenly—a dead man come to life. It took a moment for him to focus. He stared up at his sister, frowning with confusion.  
  
"Brother, I've brought you back."  
  
Spike sat upright and looked around the room. He appeared disoriented and frightened.  
  
Noting the wild look in his eyes, Emily reached over to comfort him. Spike recoiled from her touch and fell from the slab. He then scurried into a corner and crouched down, hugging his knees.  
  
Worried, Emily slowly approached her brother. Had her spell gone wrong? Physically, he looked fine, but was he? She studied the creature huddled in the corner, shivering.  
  
"William, everything's all—"  
  
A sudden crash from above caused Emily to glance upwards. Her eyes narrowed as she heard muffled voices coming from the main floor.  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy stepped into the foyer and scanned her surroundings. In the middle of the room stood a large, marble pedestal table, which held a Chinese vase filled with white Calla Lilies.  
  
Just beyond was a sweeping staircase with a polished wood banister, gracefully curving upwards with each step. The walls leading up the stairs were lined with portraits. She studied her surroundings: the furniture, the pictures on the wall, each detail…  
  
She turned to Giles, who was now standing next to her. "This is too weird," she murmured. "Everything's the same as it was."  
  
The Watcher stared at a family portrait that was hung near the bottom of the stairs, instantly recognizing the young man in the picture. His hair was a different color, his clothes laughably out-of-character, and the look in his eyes indicated a gentle kindness, but it was undeniably Spike. "I think we're in the right place," he said softly.  
  
Buffy nodded. 'Where would she be?' she asked herself. 'Where would she do the spell?' She had to get to Emily first.  
  
"Let's split up. How about you guys search upstairs," She said, gesturing to the staircase. "I'll look around on this floor."  
  
Giles agreed, then pulled out a small walkie-talkie and contacted the other members of their party. "Um. Team Two, this is Team One. We're in the house and it looks like we're in the right place. We're going to have a look around. I suggest you enter through the front door as it's already, um, open. Giles out!"  
  
The two men cautiously went upstairs while Buffy walked into the sitting room adjoining the foyer. She quickly searched each room on the first floor, finding nothing. The last room she came upon was the study. It had a masculine feel, with wood paneling, bookcases filled with faded volumes, and a dominating mahogany desk.  
  
Buffy glanced at the desktop and frowned. It seemed strangely bare. She would've expected to see papers, pens, or other 'officey' things, but the desk was empty except for a large glass paperweight. She tried to pick up the globe but it wouldn't budge. Curious, she tried to wiggle it, then pressed on it.  
  
Suddenly, she was startled by a rumbling sound from behind her. She turned and found that a section of the wood paneling had slid open, revealing stone steps leading downward into darkness. She took a deep breath and stepped into the hidden passage.  
  
* * *  
  
Slowly feeling her way, Buffy stumbled down the uneven steps. As she got closer to the bottom, she saw light coming from the chamber below. Hastening, she soon found herself in a room with rough stone walls and a dirt floor.  
  
Her eyes immediately went to the girl standing in the center of the room—Emily.  
  
The Wiccan smirked. "So, if it isn't the other Slayer," she said.  
  
"Where's Faith?"  
  
Emily shrugged. "I had my driver take her to the hospital" Her eyes darted to a lump-like form crouched in the shadows.  
  
"Hospital?" The Slayer frowned. She followed the Witch's gaze to the corner of the room. Her eyes widened as she saw, for the first time, the man huddled there. "Is it…?" She rushed to his side and knelt down.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
His head jerked upward in response. Squinting, he studied the Slayer's face. There was glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Looking uncertain, he opened his mouth to speak then looked down.  
  
"Spike, it's me," she said softly. Hesitating, Buffy touched his shoulder.  
  
"Oh my God!" she whispered. "His skin, it's…" She looked up at Emily. "Is he…?"  
  
The vampire stared down at her, expressionless. She nodded. 


	19. Alive

Chapter 19 – Alive  
  
  
  
"Human," Buffy whispered. Could it be true? She lightly caressed his cheek. It felt warm. His skin, once pale, was now flushed with color—and life. She ran her fingers through his hair, now brown and wavy.  
  
"Yes," Emily said, her face unreadable. "At least on the surface."  
  
Buffy's head jerked up. "What do you mean?"  
  
"There have been times when the resurrected came back 'different' – not a vampire and not a man, but something in between. Some were basically human but had vampire-like powers—heightened senses, strength… Others were just the opposite—vampires, but with no powers." Emily shrugged. "Right now, it's impossible to say what William is, exactly. We'll find out later—after he's adjusted to being brought back."  
  
The Slayer turned to Spike, studying him. Could it be possible? Could he be a man, but with supernatural powers—like a Slayer?  
  
'Like me.' She touched him again, lightly grazing the skin on his shoulders with her fingertips.  
  
She noticed that he was shivering.  
  
"He's cold," she said, quickly glancing around the room. She spotted the discarded shroud near the stone slab and started to rise.  
  
Following her gaze, Emily walked over to the shroud and picked it up. She then handed it to Buffy. "Here," she said, eyes fixed on her brother.  
  
Buffy wrapped Spike in the cloth and protectively encircled him in her arms. Rocking slightly, she held him close, to warm him. She pressed her cheek against his and savored the feel of his breath on her face. 'He's breathing.' She closed her eyes. 'Human. Could it really be?'  
  
She knew what he was going through. He was disoriented and confused—as she had been after being resurrected. But he would come around, eventually.  
  
She wondered what would happen when he emerged from his daze.  
  
Would he have a vampire's strength and heightened senses?  
  
And what if he didn't? Her fingers curled inward, tightly clutching the cloth.  
  
What if he was just an ordinary man?  
  
"It doesn't matter," she murmured, blinking back tears. Spike's shaking had subsided. She hugged him tighter.  
  
She loved him.  
  
And it wasn't the strength. It wasn't the darkness. It was the man.  
  
It was the man in him that she'd fallen for…and not the one he'd once been over a century before, but the one he'd eventually become.  
  
She nuzzled her face against his, wetting his cheek with her tears.  
  
"You're alive. You came back. It doesn't matter…"  
  
* * *  
  
Standing off to the side, Emily studied the girl sitting on the dirt floor with her brother. The Slayer was now crying softly as she held William in her arms. The vampire recalled her brother once saying that the girl would never love him. Clearly, he had been mistaken.  
  
She turned away, suddenly fearing that William would no longer be a part of her world—that she would be alone again. She exhaled softly and looked up to the ceiling. Her eyes narrowed as she sensed other intruders in her house besides the Slayer.  
  
The Wiccan concentrated, conjuring images of the strangers in her mind: Several men who reminded her of body guards, a nervous-looking witch and an older gentlemen with glasses. The Watchers' Council had sent them. Emily felt uncertain as she realized that she was no longer a ghost. The truth of her existence was now known.  
  
For over a century, she had avoided the Council. Despite her powers, she had always felt uneasy about facing them. In life, the organization had trained and embraced her. She still wanted to believe that she belonged—that she was one of them. But she knew it wasn't true.  
  
Her brows furrowed. It wouldn't be long before they stumbled upon the passage—as the Slayer had done.  
  
'What to do?' she wondered, glancing about the room.  
  
She looked down at the couple on the floor and got an idea. A hint of a smile crossed her face as she mused about them returning home to America—to Sunnydale. What if she followed them there?  
  
She'd always wanted to visit the Hellmouth. But she wouldn't be able to stay for very long—she'd be too conspicuous there. No, she would have to find a new home somewhere else—a major city. A place where she could easily lose herself.  
  
'New York?  
  
'San Francisco?  
  
'Or maybe…Los Angeles.' She nodded. 'Yes. I think it may be a nice change of scenery.' Her smile broadened. 'The City of Angels…'  
  
Emily backed into the shadows, whispering in Latin. The darkness enveloped her fading form. Seconds later, disembodied footsteps echoed up the hidden stairwell leading back to the study.  
  
* * *  
  
At a busy hospital several miles away, a young doctor looked at her patient's slashed wrists and shook her head. The girl looked pale from excessive blood loss. The doctor immediately assumed her to be an attempted suicide.  
  
"Let's start an IV!" she yelled. "I need four units of O-negative. Let's do a CBC, PT, PTT and a chem panel."  
  
Within seconds, the doctor's orders were being complied with as two nurses attended to the patient. They had just started the IV when the machine monitoring her vitals began to emit a loud, even tone.  
  
The physician looked up to see a flat green line on the screen. "Call a code! Start CPR and get the crash cart! Now!"  
  
One of the nurses began manual compressions on the patient's sternum. The other rushed out of the room and returned seconds later with the defibrillator, quickly positioning the equipment near the gurney. Within minutes, the room was filled with emergency department staff. The first nurse discontinued CPR and stepped aside as another placed the conducting pads on the patient's chest.  
  
"Charge 200 Joules!" the doctor ordered, grabbing the paddles and applying them to the girl's sternum.  
  
"Clear!" She depressed the button on the handle, delivering the shock.  
  
The patient's body arched then slumped back on the gurney. The doctor glanced at the screen. 'No change.'  
  
"One milligram epinephrine IV push. Charge 300 Joules!" She said, holding the paddles over the patient.  
  
She brought them down.  
  
"Clear!" The girl's body jerked upward again and flopped back down. 'Flat line still.'  
  
"Go to 360. Charge!"  
  
Teeth clenched, she held the paddles in place.  
  
"Clear!"  
  
After the fifth try, her hopes began to fade. She brushed the sweat from her forehead.  
  
'Okay, one more time.' She turned to the nurse. "How many minutes since the last epinephrine?"  
  
"Five."  
  
"All right, three milligrams epi and charge 360!"  
  
The doctor sent another surge of electricity into the young girl's body. Exhausted, she paused before looking at the screen.  
  
"Doctor!" There was surprise in the nurse's voice. "Sinus rhythm!"  
  
"I've got a femoral pulse," another nurse announced.  
  
"Check her blood pressure!" the physician yelled.  
  
"Ninety over sixty."  
  
"Okay, she's stable, let's get her to the ICU!"  
  
As the girl was wheeled to the Intensive Care Unit, the doctor hurried on to her next patient, completely unaware of the repercussions of the events that had just occurred in the emergency room that night.  
  
* * *  
  
He felt sick. He felt lost. He felt strange. He felt like…  
  
'Bloody Hell!'  
  
Sights, smells, sounds, the feel of things against his skin--everything overwhelmed him. Everything was screaming at the loudest of decibels.  
  
Shutting his eyes, he tried to calm himself. He took a deep breath, then another…and another. His respiration soon became even, like the ebb and flow of the tide. In and out, in and out… It calmed him.  
  
He thought of the ocean and of floating in the temperate, salty water. He was surrounded by warmth, slowly rocking him back and forth. He could actually feel the wetness on his face and even taste it.  
  
He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, fully expecting to smell the sea. But it was something sweeter. The fragrance was light and fresh, and faintly familiar. Vanilla. He remembered smelling it before. He inhaled again, deeper. It came to him now, a memory of the scent mixed with sweat on skin.  
  
He listened carefully. What had first sounded like waves, crashing far away, was actually the quiet sobbing of a girl, very near.  
  
He slowly opened his eyes and saw a stream of golden hair. The owner's face was hidden, pressed against his cheek. He pulled away so he could look at her.  
  
His eyes focused on her—he felt a sudden hint of clarity. He knew who she was. And now, he knew who he was, too.  
  
Spike's hand emerged from beneath the shroud and tentatively brushed away Buffy's tears. His fingers lingered on her face, lightly caressing her skin.  
  
"Don't cry, luv," he whispered. He stared at her in wonder and tilted his head to one side.  
  
She looked into his face, her eyes anxiously searching, questioning. She attempted a smile.  
  
"Happy tears," she explained quietly.  
  
His brow furrowed. "What happened to me?" He remembered the darkness, the silence.  
  
"Y…You died," Buffy replied softly. "Emily brought you back."  
  
"Died?" He stopped breathing for several seconds, until his body forced him to inhale again. He pressed his fingers against his cheeks, feeling their warmth. He placed his hand over his heart. It was beating.  
  
Buffy watched him as realization spread over his face. She nodded.  
  
He stared back at her, incredulous.  
  
"Oh my God, Buffy." He took another breath. Slowly, his lips curled upwards. "I'm alive." 


	20. No Ordinary Man

Chapter 20 – No Ordinary Man  
  
  
  
Giles was getting worried. He and Danvers had already searched the upper stories of the old Victorian mansion without finding anything. The Wiccan's home seemed empty. They were now back on the main level, where they'd expected to run into Buffy. But the Slayer seemed to have vanished.  
  
"Where is she?" the Watcher muttered as he explored a hallway near the back of the house. The other team of Watchers was also combing the first floor. The two groups had already crossed paths twice.  
  
"Mr. Giles," Danvers called from a nearby room. "I think I've found something."  
  
The Watcher hurried through the doorway, finding himself in a study. He immediately noticed a large block of darkness where there should've been a wall.  
  
"It's a secret passage," said Danvers, gesturing to his discovery.  
  
"Yes," Giles replied absently. He strode across the room and peered into the blackness.  
  
"Where do you think it goes?" Danvers asked, looking over Giles' shoulder.  
  
"No idea," the Watcher replied. He could only make out the first three steps. They were crudely carved from stone. "Only one way to find out…"  
  
He was just about to enter the passage when they heard the sound of footsteps echoing from the stairwell.  
  
Uncertain, Giles glanced at Danvers. The two men slowly backed away, eyes fixed on the dark opening.  
  
Moments later, two figures emerged from the secret passage. Giles immediately recognized one of them—the soft lighting from the study seemed to illuminate her, making her appear almost angelic.  
  
"Buffy." He let out a sigh relief. He'd feared the worst. Even a Slayer, he knew, would've had difficulty defeating a foe such as Emily Pierce—with her dark powers and vampiric strength.  
  
He noticed that Buffy had her arm around someone, a man wrapped in a yellowed, old blanket. His head was bowed, but when he looked up, Giles let out a gasp.  
  
"It can't be," he said, eyes wide.  
  
Buffy looked at her former Watcher. "It is," she explained quietly. "He…" She turned to Spike. "Emily brought him back."  
  
Giles gaped at the resurrected vampire. Something was different about him. The Watcher had immediately noticed the hair. It was Spike's natural color. But there was something else…  
  
Spike's skin—it wasn't as pale as he'd remembered. But besides that…  
  
Giles' eyes narrowed. Was he…? Yes. He saw it again--the slight, almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. Spike was breathing.  
  
Giles approached Spike and tentatively touched him on the shoulder. The vampire felt warm. The Watcher immediately pulled his hand back and looked at Buffy, his eyes questioning. She nodded in response.  
  
"Unbelievable," Giles muttered, shaking his head.  
  
"Who is he?" Danvers asked, cautiously looking at Spike.  
  
Giles turned to face the Council henchman. "Why." He paused and glanced quickly at the former vampire. "This is Spike," he said with amazement. "Or should I say William--William Pierce."  
  
* * *  
  
In the backseat of Giles' car, Buffy sat with one hand resting on the cool leather upholstery and the other held firmly in Spike's warm grasp. The two lovers looked at each other and smiled.  
  
"So, you were saying…"Giles said, glancing over his shoulder. He felt like a taxi driver, sitting alone up front, while his two passengers sat in the back, holding hands.  
  
"Um, what?" Buffy jerked her head forward.  
  
"Faith," the Watcher replied, sounding annoyed.  
  
"Right." Buffy released Spike's hand, suddenly feeling guilty. "Emily said that Faith was taken to a hospital." She bit her bottom lip. "But she didn't say which one."  
  
"So, she was still alive after the, uh…"  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said, leaning forward. "We could check out the hospitals around here—find out if anyone came in with…"  
  
"With what?"  
  
Buffy frowned. "Not sure, exactly. I just know that she needed Slayer's blood for the resurrection."  
  
"So she would've likely had significant loss of blood?"  
  
Buffy nodded. "Yeah," she said quietly.  
  
"And what happened to Emily?"  
  
"I—I don't know," the Slayer replied. "She kinda disappeared while I was, uh, distracted."  
  
"I see," Giles murmured, staring ahead at the car in front of them.  
  
Spike shifted in the seat. "I'd advise your Watchers' Council to leave my sis alone," he said. "She's not…evil. Not really."  
  
Giles grimaced. "She's a vampire—and a powerful witch. I can't see her as anything other than a threat. The Council has no choice but to—"  
  
"She's existed all of these years—right under their bloody noses! With her powers, she could've easily—"  
  
The ex-vampire's rant was interrupted by the sound of Giles' cellular phone.  
  
"Excuse me," the Watcher said through gritted teeth as he answered the call.  
  
"Yes, Giles here.  
  
"Oh.  
  
"I—I see.  
  
"Well, I'm here with Buffy, er Miss Summers and uh, William, uh, Pierce.  
  
"Yes. Yes. Well, I'll explain it all in the morning.  
  
"A--All right, then. Good-bye."  
  
The Watcher remained silent for several seconds after the call. The surrounding street noises seemed to be amplified in contrast to the car's quiet interior.  
  
"That was Travers," Giles said finally, when they'd reached a stoplight. His shoulders slumped and he exhaled quietly. "Apparently, another Slayer's been called."  
  
"Oh," Buffy whispered, realizing instantly what that meant.  
  
"Yes, well," Giles said, straightening as the light turned green. "I—I guess I'll drop the two of you off at the hotel and start checking out the local hospitals. I'll locate Faith's…" He paused. "I'll take care of any necessary arrangements."  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy ignored the stares from curious patrons as she walked with Spike through the elegant hotel lobby. The former vampire was indeed a strange sight--clad in Giles' brown tweed jacket, with the ancient shroud tied about his waist, like a sarong.  
  
Spike noticed the gawkers and boldly stared back at them, scowling. A plump woman in a purple suit let out an audible "oh my!' and quickly looked away. The other guests reacted similarly, turning their attentions elsewhere.  
  
Spike smirked with satisfaction. "Nosy gits," he muttered under his breath.  
  
Buffy's lips curled upward. She was relieved to see that, despite what he'd been through, he was still the same—Spike. She couldn't deny the happiness she felt. He'd come back, but the price…  
  
It had been a trade off—one life for another. She was pretty certain that Faith was dead. The other Slayer had led a troubled life and made some terrible choices, but Buffy hoped that Faith had found her redemption in the end. Maybe she'd found peace.  
  
She glanced at Spike, who—despite his odd attire—strode with the same easy confidence he'd exhibited in the past. There was an underlying strength in him—she could sense it. It had always been there. And it wasn't anything physical, but something innate in him. It was what had drawn her to him all along.  
  
She knew that he would never be an ordinary man.  
  
"I really do love him," she whispered, unintentionally vocalizing her thoughts.  
  
In mid-step, Spike stopped and stared at her. "What did you just say?"  
  
"I…um," Buffy stammered, turning away--her face reddening. She wanted to tell him, but… She looked around the busy lobby. It just wasn't the right time. Something this important needed be said in private.  
  
"Nothing," she said finally.  
  
"Oh," he said, looking hurt. He resumed walking, his pace a step faster. "So, we're still playing that tune, eh?"  
  
"No." Buffy bit her lip. She rushed to catch up to him. "It's not like tha---"  
  
"Never mind, Slayer." They reached the elevator. Spike jammed the button with his index finger, punching it right through. He gaped at the hole he'd just created.  
  
"Didn't mean to do that," he said quietly.  
  
Surprised, Buffy studied him for a moment. She recalled Emily mentioning the possibility of Spike having vampiric strength and other qualities. Did he? She wondered.  
  
"Let's take the stairs," she said, grabbing his arm and leading him away from the elevator. She tightened her fingers around his forearm and felt him flex the muscles beneath her grip. They exchanged a look.  
  
"I want to try something," she said, locking her hand with his and bringing it up as if to arm wrestle. "A little test—but I don't want to hurt you."  
  
"Right," Spike replied, sounding a bit put off by her condescending words.  
  
"Now," she continued, gritting her teeth. "I'm just going to push…"  
  
His arm didn't budge.  
  
"Okay, now with just a little more force…"  
  
It still didn't give.  
  
"Hmmh." Her face belied her astonishment. "Okay, no holding back now."  
  
Both of them strained—neither faltered.  
  
"So," said Spike, smiling and looking smug. "Guess I'm not the hundred pound weakling I thought I'd become. Nobody's gonna kick sand on this bloke's beach blanket, eh Slayer?"  
  
Amazed, Buffy didn't answer.  
  
"Yeah." Spike grinned. "And I've got a little score to settle with a certain Scooby who's been picking on me…"  
  
* * *  
  
Up in their hotel room, Spike rifled through the chest of drawers for something to wear. He pulled out a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt. Happy to rid himself of the scratchy tweed blazer and musty-smelling shroud, he put on the familiar, comfortable old clothes.  
  
A thought crossed his mind and he strode to the wardrobe. He sifted through the neatly hung garments.  
  
"Bugger!" he muttered, shaking his head.  
  
"What is it?" Buffy asked. She'd been sitting on the bed, but was now standing.  
  
"My duster," Spike replied. "I guess it was…"  
  
"Dusted," the Slayer finished his sentence for him. She smirked. "Actually, I never really liked that thing on you."  
  
"Oh you didn't, did you?"  
  
"Yeah, well—here's a fashion tip—if the buttons are on the left side, it's a girl's coat. Where'd you get it from, anyway?"  
  
"I, uh…" Spike paused, recalling how he'd garnered the duster a couple of decades ago—off the body of a dead Slayer. "Um, never mind, luv. You're right. It was getting a bit worn out, anyway," he said, closing the wardrobe.  
  
Buffy smiled as she walked up to him. "I'll buy you a new one," she said, hugging him from behind. "To keep you warm."  
  
Turning around, Spike caressed her face and ran his fingers through her hair--the duster now forgotten. He leaned over and kissed her.  
  
"While I was gone," he said huskily. "Even while I was stuck in the Ether…" He kissed her again. "You were in my thoughts—always."  
  
She pulled away and looked up at him, studying his face. "Spike."  
  
"I love you," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "And I know that you couldn't love me before—me being a demon and all, but maybe now that I've had a visit from the blue fairy…been made into a real boy…" There was a playful twinkle in his eyes which quickly faded and his tone became serious. "Maybe now—"  
  
Buffy placed a finger on his lips to quiet him.  
  
"I do love you," she said. "Now…and even before."  
  
He looked at her with surprise. "But I thought—"  
  
"I just didn't realize it--until it was too late," she continued. "Color me stupid but—"  
  
Spike brought his mouth down on hers, instantly silencing her. He pulled her closer, feeling her body meld with his. The long kiss left them both breathless. He relaxed his hold and took a tiny step back. His lips brushed against her hair as he leaned over her.  
  
"Tell me again," he whispered urgently in her ear. "Tell me you love me."  
  
Buffy tightened her arms around his lean torso, savoring the new warmth of his embrace. "I love you," she said and closed her eyes. "Now kiss me again." 


	21. Daybreak

Chapter 21 – Daybreak  
  
  
  
It was still dark. Spike stood alone on the rooftop of the century-old hotel and waited. He could hear stirrings of the awakening city below him. Scanning the horizon, he could see the dim outlines of the surrounding buildings. Scattered lights speckled their shadowy forms.  
  
He took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. A stream of smoke trailed from his mouth and disappeared into the pre-dawn air. It wouldn't be long now. His senses were tingling.  
  
A nagging fear urged him to withdraw into the shadows, as he'd done for the past hundred years. But he ignored it. His days of hiding were done. It was time to face an old foe and finally make his peace.  
  
He lifted his cigarette to his lips and inhaled, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He held his breath for a moment before exhaling.  
  
The sky was now brightening.  
  
'Soon.'  
  
He closed his eyes and felt the tingling grow. His vampiric senses were setting off alarms, but they only made him smile. He was a man now.  
  
'A man with a soul.'  
  
Spike's smile suddenly faded. The pesky thing was already making its presence known. Did he feel pain and regret? Did he feel remorse?  
  
Of course he did.  
  
But the past couldn't be undone. All the people he'd killed—they couldn't be brought back.  
  
He wasn't going to cry about it. That wasn't his style. He'd leave the whole tortured, brooding bit to another bloke. Angel. He was the reigning king of self-imposed suffering.  
  
Spike took another drag from his cigarette then stared at the morning sky with determination. He was resolved to move forward.  
  
There'd be no looking back now.  
  
'No. Bleeding. Way.'  
  
Squinting reflexively, he saw his old nemesis coming up from behind the tall buildings. Its rays shown outward, streaking the sky. There was a sudden look of awe on his face as he gazed upon it for the first time in over a century.  
  
The Sun.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
As he sat in his superiors' office for the fourth time in less than a week, Giles was finding it increasingly difficult to hide his disgust. Travers continued to drone on about the situation with Faith and how things had turned out for the best. In his opinion, the girl had been nothing but trouble. Her death at the hands of the Wiccan had been, as he put it, "a convenient outcome."  
  
What Travers didn't know, and what Giles had no intention of mentioning to him, was that Faith was still alive. Giles had found her at a hospital the night before. She'd been asleep in the ICU, but her condition had been listed as stable. He planned to visit her after the meeting.  
  
The high-ranking Council member went on to mention the new Slayer who had been called.  
  
"Her name is Hope Mason," Travers said. "She lives in New York City. I've contacted her Watcher but there may be a problem."  
  
"Problem?" Giles said, his brows knitted.  
  
"Yes," Travers continued. "Although he hasn't approached her yet, he's done a complete background check. She comes from a broken home—her mother's an alcoholic…her father's completely uninvolved with the family. At fifteen, she's been in trouble for shoplifting, been picked up for truancy. The list goes on and it isn't good." Travers exhaled loudly and shook his head. "She sounds like another Faith."  
  
"Maybe you should just have her killed then and see if we'll have better luck with the next girl on the list," Giles muttered sarcastically.  
  
Travers eyed him coldly. "Perhaps that isn't such a bad idea," he said, sounding sinister. He stared at his long-time colleague for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Now, about this William Pierce…"  
  
"Well." Giles said, taking off his glasses. "He existed as a vampire known as Spike for the last, oh, hundred and twenty years or so. He was quite a monster, really. Bested two Slayers. Your man, King, killed him a few nights ago, but…"  
  
Travers leaned forward. "Go on."  
  
"Emily, uh, the Wiccan, resurrected him." Giles looked down and began to polish his spectacles. "He was her brother, you see. So she brought him back."  
  
"So, this vampire, he's also a threat?"  
  
Giles shook his head. "No. He'd actually been helping Miss Summers with her slaying for quite some time."  
  
Travers looked dubious. "I don't understand. If he was a vampire—"  
  
"It's actually quite complicated and, at this point, irrelevant." Giles paused. "The interesting thing is— the resurrection…it brought him back different. I believe that he's…human now."  
  
"Human?" Travers asked, stunned.  
  
"Yes," Giles said, "he was breathing and his skin was warm to the touch. Actually I have read about this happening on rare occasions with vampire resurrections." The Watcher looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, I suppose now, if Spike is human…"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Well." Giles put his glasses back on. "Technically, he could be one of us."  
  
Travers remained silent.  
  
"As you know, he comes from a long line watchers. The Pierce Family had a solid reputation. And now that he's a man…."  
  
Rubbing his jaw, Travers contemplated Giles' words. He nodded.  
  
"Yes," he said. "This could possibly work in our favor. Since the Witch seems to have eluded us, perhaps this William or Spike or whatever you want to call him may be the key to finding her…and even killing her."  
  
"Actually, Spike tends to do as he pleases. I can't imagine—"  
  
"We'll approach him—bring up the possibility of reestablishing the Pierce line." Travers shrugged. "I doubt he would knowingly betray his sister. But if we can get close to him, gain his trust… He could lead us to her, eventually."  
  
Giles frowned.  
  
"This witch is extremely powerful—a threat to us," Travers said. "Honestly, I'm not sure exactly how we'll defeat her. But everyone has a weakness…everyone. This Spike, he's human now…mortal. I'm thinking that he could somehow be that weakness."  
  
"I don't like this," Giles said uneasily.  
  
"I wouldn't expect you to," Travers replied. "But it makes sense. I see an opportunity here. I'm not going to let it slip by us."  
  
* * *  
  
The trailer was a mess; shabby and sadly neglected, like the little girl who lived there. Sitting on the matted carpet, she balanced a glass jar precariously on her knees. She stared, wide eyed, at the little black insect it contained.  
  
She'd heard that crickets were supposed to be lucky. She'd found this one under their trailer and thought—maybe her fortunes would change. The tiny bug seemed to stare back at her with its shiny round eyes. Like the tops of pins, only smaller. It propped its hind legs up—a miniature violinist. It began to play.  
  
The sound was soft at first. She pressed her ear against the glass to hear the faint chirping. But it steadily grew louder, making little Faith nervous. The girl glanced up at her sleeping mother, slumped over the kitchen table, an empty bottle of whisky lay on the floor by her foot.  
  
Looking back at the cricket, she held a finger up to her lips. "Shhhh," she warned the little bug. "She'll wake up."  
  
But the sound only grew louder, becoming a cacophony of chirps filling the room. They sounded odd—not like an insect at all, but rather cold and electronic.  
  
It became overwhelming. She covered her ears, tiny hands shaking.  
  
"No, no, no, no…"  
  
But the dream was now fading--becoming a memory. Faith awoke to find herself in a strange room with stark white walls. There were several large pieces of equipment with monitors surrounding her. The sound she'd mistaken for chirping came from these machines.  
  
She started to sit up, but was overcome by dizziness. Instinctively, she raised a hand to her forehead. Her wrist was bandaged. She looked at the other one. It was bandaged too. Realization sunk in.  
  
She hadn't died.  
  
She slumped back onto the hospital bed and closed her eyes, overcome with despair.  
  
* * *  
  
Giles hurried down the white corridor. His worn, but comfortable leather shoes padded quietly on the cold linoleum floor. He stopped in front of a room halfway down the hall.  
  
The door was open, so he peeked in. Faith was sitting up, a pillow propped behind her back and a tray of hospital food in front of her. Despondently, she toyed with her breakfast, pushing it around the plate with her fork.  
  
Giles cleared his throat and forced a smile. "Good morning," he said cheerfully. He held up a small basket filled with colorful flowers and entered the room. "I brought these for you."  
  
Faith stared at the floral arrangement, unsure of how to respond to the Watcher's gesture of kindness. She knew it was customary for people in hospitals to receive such things, but she would've never expected to get anything herself. People without friends or loved ones generally didn't get presents.  
  
She looked at Giles and wondered if, maybe, she wasn't as alone as she'd thought.  
  
Feeling awkward, the Watcher placed the basket on the table near the foot of her bed.  
  
"So, how are you feeling?" he asked. His concern seemed genuine.  
  
Faith frowned uncertainly. "I—I guess I'm okay."  
  
"Yes," Giles said, sitting in the chair nearest to the bed. "I spoke with your doctor. She said that you're a lucky young woman. You know, you're heart stopped for a while—but they revived you." He looked into her face—studying her reaction. "Do you know what that means?"  
  
Faith shook her head. "My heart stopped?"  
  
"Yes," Giles continued. "It means that you were dead for several minutes—technically. Do you understand?"  
  
"I still don't—"  
  
"Faith," Giles said, leaning forward. "A new Slayer has been called. It's really quite remarkable—three Slayers alive at once. It's unprecedented." He paused. "Of course, the Council believes that there are only two."  
  
He watched his words sink in.  
  
"They think that I'm…" Faith began, her eyes questioning.  
  
"Dead," Giles said. "They've assumed it to be true, even though a body was never recovered. I think part of it is just Quentin's eagerness to have the whole situation closed."  
  
Faith nodded. "So they won't be coming after me?"  
  
"No." He smiled. "You don't have to be afraid of the Council anymore—as long as they believe you're dead. I'm the only one who knows the truth. Your secret's safe."  
  
Faith was silent for a moment. Her brow furrowed. "But what will I do? Where will I go?" She looked lost. "I—I have no idea…" Her voice trailed off.  
  
Giles grabbed her hand and held it firmly. "Faith," he said. "I still consider myself to be your Watcher. I'll help you. I can set you up with a new identity and get you back to the States. Everything will be fine. You'll see"  
  
Faith looked down at her hand, held safely in that of her Watcher. Hesitantly, she gave it a squeeze. She'd been given a second chance. Perhaps her luck was changing. She thought of her dream, and the cricket. A flicker of a smile played on her lips as she started to feel something she'd thought she'd given up on—hope.  
  
* * *  
  
Buffy awoke to the sound of knocking. Still sleepy, she tried to ignore the noise, but it persisted.  
  
"Spike!" she called, hoping the former vampire would answer it. He didn't respond and she heard running water coming from the bathroom. "Damn!" she said, slowly getting out of bed.  
  
Clad in a cotton nightgown, she hurried to the door and opened it. A young man dressed in a maroon hotel uniform was standing in the hallway, holding a large, covered tray. He smiled at her.  
  
"Room service," he said, gesturing to the platter. "Where would you like this?"  
  
Buffy stepped aside to let him in. "I guess, um, over there," she replied, pointing to a table near the window.  
  
She followed behind him, curious to see what Spike had ordered. When he lifted the silver cover off the tray, she was impressed with the variety of delicious breakfast dishes the ex-vampire had chosen. There were scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, pancakes, Belgium waffles, muffins, fruits—her mouth immediately began to water. She was so preoccupied with the array of food that she almost bumped into the bellboy when he turned around.  
  
"Excuse me," he said, embarrassed. He asked her to sign the check and started to leave.  
  
"Oh, wait!" Buffy hustled over to her purse and took out some money. "Here." She said, awkwardly thrusting the dollar bills at the boy. "Sorry, I almost forgot. I kind of wasn't expecting room service. It must've been ordered by my, um, uh…" She paused, trying to think of the appropriate word to describe Spike. "My uh, 'significant other'." She said finally and smiled.  
  
The young man accepted the tip. "Thank-you Ma'am," he said, exiting the room just as a towel-clad Spike emerged from the bathroom.  
  
The former vampire smirked. "So that's what you're calling me now, eh?" he asked playfully. "Significant. Other."  
  
"Well," Buffy said, surprised. "What should I call you?"  
  
Spike arched an eyebrow. "Now, I'm not complaining here," he said, lips turned upwards. "I like the sound of… 'Significant. Other.' I like it a lot, actually. And maybe I should start calling you…oh, I don't know, 'my better half' or 'the little woman'?" He eyed her playfully.  
  
"Right," Buffy said, rolling her eyes.  
  
"Or." Spike continued. "Howabout…the 'missus'? Now that has a ring to it."  
  
"Well," Buffy said, "I think we'd have to be, uh, you know, first…"  
  
He nodded, his smile growing broad. "Yes, I suppose you're right." He strode over to her and grabbed her around the waist. His body was still damp and drops of water soaked through her thin nightgown. He looked at her, his blue eyes locking with hers. "Of course, we're talking about some time in the future, now. But, I can't think of anything that would make me—"  
  
The phone rang.  
  
"Bloody Hell!"  
  
Buffy scrambled out of his grasp to answer the call. "Hold that thought!" she said, as she picked up the receiver.  
  
"Yes," she said, sounding breathless. "Oh, hello Mr. Travers." Her expression changed, becoming suspicious.  
  
"Yes, I'm fine, thanks," she said, her voice now cold.  
  
"Oh." Frowning, Buffy handed the telephone to Spike. "It's for you." 


	22. Leaving London

Chapter 22 – Leaving London  
  
  
  
The late lunch crowd had just left the diner, leaving it empty except for a young couple seated in a cozy booth and obviously in love. Buffy smiled up at the waitress as their food arrived. Her expression immediately changed, however, upon closer examination of the meal she'd ordered ten minutes earlier.  
  
"I can't eat this," she said, after the waitress had left. She wrinkled her nose at the plate in front of her and pushed it away. "It's way too greasy. Totally gross." She shot an accusatory look at the man seated next to her. "You should've warned me."  
  
"C'mon luv," an amused Spike replied. "You kept telling me you wanted to eat 'fish 'n chips'. You said it, what, like fifty times. I didn't want to spoil your fun."  
  
The Slayer frowned. "Well, it's just that it's our last day here, and I thought…" She paused and eyed the former vampire's plate. His sandwich looked much more palatable, enticing her. "Maybe I should just have some of yours," she said, reaching over to poach a quarter of his turkey on wheat.  
  
But with superhuman quickness, he whisked the food out of her grasp. "Ah, ah, ah," he scolded, reproachfully. "This is mine, pet."  
  
"But—" Her lower lip extended out shamelessly, like a two-year old's. "I'm hungry and this is just…" She mournfully looked down at the meal she'd ordered. "Yuck."  
  
"Well…" Spike looked down first at his healthful lunch then at her cholesterol laden nightmare. He started to feel sorry for her. It must have been that newly restored soul of his—the beacon, the guide… He shrugged. "Sorry luv. This is mine. You can order something else if you want to."  
  
Buffy scowled at him. "You're…" her eyes narrowed as she thought of an appropriate adjective, "evil!"  
  
Spike smiled immediately. "Thanks, luv." He winked. "That means a lot."  
  
As the Slayer scanned a menu, he watched her, thoroughly entertained. He took a bite of his sandwich. "So," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "What's your take on this whole Watcher deal? Think I should take the money and run?"  
  
Buffy looked up, forgetting briefly about her hunger. "I don't know," she said. "It seems kinda strange, doesn't it? And Travers—he's such a jerk. I mean, I trust him about as far as I can throw him."  
  
Spike arched an eyebrow. "Well, actually," he said, chuckling, "that's pretty far."  
  
"It just doesn't make any sense," Buffy continued. "Why would they want you to join them?"  
  
"Well, they obviously don't know me," he said, smiling. "That's pretty clear. If they did—"  
  
"Spike, this is serious. The Council's up to something. I can feel it."  
  
"Well, if you ask me, the Council's always going to be up to something. Now, if they want to pay me for sitting on my ass and opening a few books…" He shrugged. "Let them. I'm not saying that I trust them. But they don't scare me."  
  
"Still, something about this just…stinks."  
  
"I think it's you lunch, pet." Spike grinned. "Anyway, I told him I'd think about it." He gestured to her menu, diverting the focus back to the meal. "Now, maybe you should just go on and pick something to eat."  
  
* * *  
  
By the time Buffy was ready to order, Spike had already finished his lunch. He was dying for a smoke. He reached for his cigarettes but was stopped by the Slayer's icy stare. Excusing himself under the guise of going to the bathroom, he went outside to an adjacent alley.  
  
Spike leaned against a wall and glanced up at the sky. He frowned as he noticed dark clouds converging quickly. It looked like rain.  
  
Hastily, he lit a thin white stalk and brought it to his lips. It was a nasty habit—he knew it. The bleeding things would probably be the death of him. But he didn't care. A bloke had to have his vices.  
  
Of course, Buffy disapproved…  
  
He took a long drag and held in the smoke for as long as he could tolerate it.  
  
'I'll bloody well do…'  
  
He took another puff.  
  
'As I plea—'  
  
'William!' said a voice in his head.  
  
Spike grimaced. "Bloody Hell!" He just hated it when Wiccans did that. He strongly felt that there should be a law against unexpected telepathic communications. He looked around the alley, but he was alone.  
  
'Emily?'  
  
'Yes?' There was a playfulness in her 'voice.' He could picture his sister smiling.  
  
'Where the hell are you?' He sent her an image of himself snarling.  
  
'Around the corner, there's a little café. I'm the beautiful red-head seated outside.'  
  
'Nice.' Spike made his way down the alley. Turning, he immediately spotted his sister. She was seated at a small, round, wrought iron table and wore a black, formfitting catsuit, perfectly accessorized with oval dark glasses--a very 'sixties' look.  
  
"Well," he said, taking a seat in the chair opposite hers. "If it isn't 'Miss Emma Peel'."  
  
The Vampire gazed at her brother with amusement. "I'm incognito," she said. "Thought I'd have a bit of fun.'" Her lips curled upward. "So, how's life?"  
  
"It's killing me," he joked.  
  
Emily tilted her head to one side. "I could fix that—if you want me to. Make you…something other than a man again…"  
  
Spike laughed and shook his head. "Oh no." He then became serious. "This," he said, thumping his chest, "is what I've really wanted for some time now." The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. "I imagine I've been rewarded by the bleeding Powers for my good behavior, or something like that."  
  
His sister looked disappointed. "Well, if you change your mind…"  
  
"I won't."  
  
Emily sighed. "I know." She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. "Have you thought about what you're going to do with this new life of yours?"  
  
"Well." Spike smirked. "There's the whole Watcher thing. They've asked me--"  
  
"Asked you?" Emily tilted her sunglasses down and looked at him. "What exactly did they say?"  
  
"Oh, they brought up the possibility of reestablishing the Pierce line."  
  
The Wiccan became thoughtful. "Interesting. And are you considering it?"  
  
"Well, yeah. They've offered to pay me something—not a lot, mind you, but a decent amount," Spike replied. "I do need the money."  
  
"Well actually," Emily said knowingly, "you really don't."  
  
The ex-vampire frowned. "I don't?"  
  
"Our family's amassed quite a fortune since you first died," she explained. "About 80 years ago I sold the family bookstore. I reinvested the money in the American stock market. We've done well—very well, in fact. Half of our wealth, I've shifted to a separate account—under an alias I've set up for myself. The rest of it, though…" She paused meaningfully. "It's yours William. I've already contacted my lawyer. Everything's arranged. She'll be getting in touch with you soon."  
  
Spike was speechless.  
  
"So," Emily said, eyeing him with amusement. "You really don't need to work for the Council…unless you want to."  
  
His eyes were questioning. "What do you think? I mean, they're a bunch of gits, if you ask me…"  
  
"I think," Emily replied quietly, "that it's always wise to stay close to the enemy."  
  
"So you think they're the enemy, then?"  
  
She nodded. "They could very well be—for me, anyway." She waved her hand, dismissively. "But, not to worry, Brother. I'm much smarter then them, stronger and more powerful. They can't touch me. You do as you please."  
  
"Yeah." Spike rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "I always do, anyway."  
  
"So." Emily stood up. "I imagine your Slayer's probably wondering where you've gone to by now." She adjusted her sunglasses and smoothed her hair. "And besides, it's time for me to go."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"I'm leaving London," she replied, almost wistfully. "After all these years. It's time for a change. I'm catching a plane tonight. Don't know if I'll ever be back."  
  
"But, where—"  
  
Emily shook her head. "I can't tell you just yet. But I'll be close to you, and I'll be in touch." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips left a lingering feeling of coolness on his face as he watched her cross the street and disappear into a crowd.  
  
* * *  
  
At a hospital across town, Faith gazed unsatisfactorily at her reflection in the mirror. She was definitely not liking the oversized gray sweatshirt borrowed from Giles or the touristy blue baseball cap with the words "London 2001" on it. The outdated Rayban sunglasses didn't do much for her either.  
  
Sighing, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her black leather pants--the only article of clothing she wore that truly reflected her personality. She frowned as her hand came into contact with something soft, a pouch. She pulled it out to examine it.  
  
It was tiny, smaller than an egg. She turned it around in her palm. There was a broken cord tied around it, keeping it closed. It had been Spike's. She remembered inadvertently pulling it off of him the night he'd died. But what was it for?  
  
Curious, she untied the string and opened the little bag. A small amount of crushed, dried herbs spilled onto her hand. She pushed the tiny leaves around with her finger, then cautiously sniffed. It smelled musty—like an old house. She felt a strange rush—a sense of freedom. Liking the feeling, she closed her eyes and inhaled again, deeper this time. The sensation returned, stronger. She could picture herself floating—her cares and worries landlocked as she rose above them.  
  
Faith curled her fingers around the pouch. She wasn't comfortable with spells. She'd never had much luck with them in the past. She recalled the time she'd switched bodies with Buffy—that incident had certainly backfired on her. Magic always had consequences—always. She knew this, but… She took another whiff. Her body swayed as she was again overcome with the feeling of weightlessness.  
  
'No.' She hastily retied the pouch. 'No more.' She walked to a wastebasket and held the tiny sack over it. She started to let it go, then stopped. 'Maybe…'  
  
She stuffed the pouch back in her pocket. 'Just in case.'  
  
She didn't need it—not now. Things finally seemed to be turning around for her. But you just never knew.  
  
Faith picked up the duffel that carried her life's belongings. Giles had brought it for her the day before, along with her new passport, driver's license, plane ticket and a generous amount of money. He'd given her enough cash to last her at least a month—longer if she really tried to stretch it. She felt a lump in her throat. Kindness was not something she was used to.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Faith scanned the hospital room one last time before walking out the door. Giles was waiting for her in the lobby, ready to take her to the airport. She'd be boarding a plane for New York City in just a few hours.  
  
Although unsure of what challenges she would face in the future, she felt lucky to have a second chance. She was determined to make the right choices this time. Maybe, make a difference. She lifted her chin up a notch. After all, she wasn't just an ordinary girl—she was a slayer.  
  
* * *  
  
Spike closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep despite the loud hum of the airplane engines. It was going to be a long flight and he was tired. His London visit had finally come to an end. It had certainly been eventful.  
  
He'd found a sister, a family legacy, a possible new calling, a new existence, and even love. So much had happened; everything was changed. His lips curled lazily upward as he glanced at Buffy, sleeping in the seat next to him. He imagined that their homecoming would also be memorable. Maybe now, he'd finally get the respect he deserved.  
  
Buffy had already told the Little Bit a couple of days ago about his humanity and the truth about their relationship. He was sure that Dawn would've informed the others by now. Everything would be out in the open.  
  
He fidgeted in his seat, trying to get comfortable and dreaming of a cigarette. He began to reach for his pack, but hesitated, remembering that smoking wasn't aloud.  
  
'Damn! Bloody air—"  
  
His senses began to tingle. Someone was watching him. He leaned sideways and scanned the aisle. A pair of eyes met his.  
  
"Bloody Hell!" He sat up straight, surprised.  
  
The little girl smiled at him triumphantly. "I knew it was you," she said, showing a gap in her front teeth that hadn't been there on the trip coming.  
  
"Yeah?" he said, amused.  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "But you look different."  
  
Spike smirked. "The hair?" he said, referring to his still natural colored locks.  
  
"Yeah." She nodded, staring at him in earnest. "But there's something else."  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"Hey," the girl said, craning her neck toward him. "Can you do that thing again?"  
  
"Thing?"  
  
"Yeah, you know—the cool vampire face thing."  
  
Spike rolled his eyes. "No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Just can't, as all."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Just ca—" Spike stopped himself, realizing the conversation could probably go on like that indefinitely. He exhaled loudly. "Because I'm not a vampire anymore, okay?"  
  
The little girl looked crestfallen. "Oh," she said softly. "That's too bad"  
  
"You think?" he asked, eyebrow raised.  
  
"Yeah, 'cause you were just so…cool."  
  
Spike suppressed a laugh. "Yeah, I guess I was." He looked at her and smiled. "But I like being warm better."  
  
The little girl frowned and withdrew from the aisle, disappearing behind her seat.  
  
Still smiling, Spike leaned back and closed his eyes. Eventually, he fell asleep and had a most wonderful dream—of strolling in the woods with Buffy. When they came to a clearing, the Slayer walked out into the sunlight and beckoned for him to follow. Hesitantly, he left the shelter of the trees to join her. He'd had this dream before. But it was different now. This time he didn't burn.  
  
  
  
  
  
THE END 


	23. Epilogue

Epilogue – And They Lived…  
  
  
  
It was early evening. Buffy, Willow and Dawn were sitting around the research table at the Magic Box, trying to determine the identity of the latest 'big bad' to arrive in Sunnydale. It had been almost two months since the Slayer and the man who was now her new Watcher had returned from London.  
  
"So," Buffy said, looking at the two other girls, "you guys think this demon I saw last night was a, uh, 'Chamorro' something or other?"  
  
Dawn nodded and glanced at Willow who looked up from her laptop, bobbing her head up and down with obvious enthusiasm.  
  
"Uh huh," the Wiccan replied. She leaned over Dawn's book and pointed to a black and white drawing. "Here, this guy, a Chermaya demon. He's all lumpy and scaly with this big horn on his head—ooh and the funny ears—just like you described." She pushed the book across the table to Buffy. "See?"  
  
The Slayer's brow furrowed slightly as she examined the picture. "Yeah, I guess that's him. He looks a lot different in person—you know, bigger. But yeah, I think it's him all right."  
  
Willow turned back to her computer and began typing. After a minute, she paused. "This Chermaya demon sounds like a real meanie from what I can find on the data base. It kinda likes to rip off its victims' heads—arms and legs, too, for that matter. You better have Spike go with you on patrol tonight."  
  
"Yeah," Buffy replied, "he pretty much comes with me every night, anyway. He's really taking this Watcher business to a whole new level."  
  
Willow smiled knowingly. "Oh, for Spike, going patrolling is like, you know, a date. He just likes being with you, that's all."  
  
"Plus he's majorly protective," Buffy added.  
  
"Yeah, but that's a good thing!".  
  
Dawn leaned forward, resting her chin in the palms of her hands. "You're so lucky, Buffy," the teenager said, looking dreamily at the ceiling. "Spike's like—so cool. And he's so in love you." She glanced at her sister. "You totally don't deserve him," she added with a smirk, "but I'm still happy for you."  
  
"Where is Spike, anyway?" Willow asked. "Thought he'd be here by now."  
  
"Maybe he's at his beach house," Dawn suggested. "God I love that place! And Spike promised I could have a party there nex—"  
  
"He what?" Buffy asked, eyeing her sister sternly.  
  
Suddenly nervous, Dawn remained silent for a moment. "N—nothing," she said finally.  
  
"Yeah, well, I'll stop by there, before going to the cemetery." Buffy paused thoughtfully. "But I think he might be someplace else."  
  
* * *  
  
She'd been right. Spike wasn't at the beach house, but she'd found Xander and Anya there. The couple frequently visited Spike's new home, much to the annoyance of the former vampire. It had started with them coming to the housewarming party that Buffy had forced him to throw. After that, there'd been reason after lame reason for them to show up there. The real reasons though, in Buffy's opinion, were—for Xander—Spike's big screen t.v., and—for Anya—the fact that the house had cost an obscene amount of money. And of course, there was his Jacuzzi…  
  
Whenever the couple stopped by, Spike tended to leave the house after what he considered to be a polite amount of time—five to ten minutes. Buffy smiled as she reflected on the way the former vampire grumbled about his unwelcome visitors. She couldn't help but think that part of him was really pleased to finally be accepted. Nobody thought of him as evil anymore. No one questioned his motives.  
  
The sound of grinding gears interrupted her thoughts. A week before, just hours after getting her driver's license, Buffy had bought a sporty little Honda CRV. Although Spike had warned her not to, she'd decided to purchase one with a stick shift—because they were supposed to be fun to drive. Gritting her teeth, she downshifted again, wincing at the resulting screeching sound.  
  
Upon reaching the cemetery, Buffy put the CRV in park. The car seemed to grumble as she shut off the engine. The Slayer patted the steering wheel. "Be nice," she said, admonishing the vehicle. "I'm getting better."  
  
She then hopped out of the car and headed for the place she'd originally assumed Spike to be—his old lair.  
  
* * *  
  
The crypt was peaceful. A retreat. Sometimes Spike just needed to get away—from life and the living.  
  
He sat on the stone sarcophagus, chewing on the nicotine gum Buffy had bought for him the day before. Reaching into the pocket of his new leather coat, he took out two more pieces and shoved them into his mouth. It just wasn't the same; what he would've given for a smoke!  
  
He chomped harder. The things he did for love. His one last vice out the door. Was he turning into the Slayer's whipped puppy? Damn, he hoped not. But of course, he'd always been love's bitch… He chewed even harder, with so much force that he thought his jaw might break.  
  
The Slayer was great, there was no denying that, but her friends were another story. He could tolerate Willow and Tara, but Xander and Anya? He'd never liked them when he was a vampire and he saw no reason to start now just because he happened to be warm and breathing. Sod that! And they were always coming over—like tonight! He shook his head with frustration.  
  
They were so nice to him now; it was weird. Some days he felt like he just couldn't handle it.  
  
So he came here—to his old lair. It was familiar and dark. It still felt more like home to him than the expensive piece of oceanfront property he'd purchased on the advice of Emily's lawyer. He looked around the crypt and took a deep breath. Yes, it still felt like home.  
  
Suddenly, his senses started tingling. She was coming. He pictured her walking at her usual brisk pace—a Slayer's pace—through the cemetery. He started counting down from twenty. "19, 18, 17…" He had it down to a science. "…14, 13, 12…" He pictured her newly shorn hair, bouncing just above her shoulders, a style he hated, but had held back from criticizing because she so obviously loved it.  
  
"…7, 6, 5…" She was almost there. "…3, 2, 1." Then with the usual lack of ceremony, the door burst open and Buffy walked in. She stood near the entrance, smirking and cocking her head to one side—a mannerism she'd obviously picked up from him.  
  
"I thought I'd find you here," she said, a playful look in her eyes.  
  
"Yeah well." Spike shrugged. "What can I say? Old habits die hard, I guess."  
  
Buffy walked over to the sarcophagus and hiked herself up to sit next to him. She looked at her surroundings and smiled. "This place does have a lot of memories," she said. "Some of them, I'd even call—happy."  
  
Spike draped his arm around her shoulders, a gesture that was now so natural. "Very happy memories," he murmured. "We can still…" he looked at her with a familiar glint in his eyes, "make some more."  
  
The Slayer pulled away. "Oh no," she said, shaking her head. "I've got a new 'Big Bad' to find. A 'Chamorro' demon."  
  
Spike frowned. "Uh, do you mean 'Chermaya'?"  
  
"Oh yeah, Chermaya—that's what Willow called it." She smiled. "Wow, you're such a knowledgeable Watcher guy now. I'm impressed!"  
  
Spike looked worried. "Those are nasty buggers. Hard to kill, too. They've got this really tough scaly skin that's—"  
  
"Okay, okay," Buffy interrupted, "enough with the show of knowledge. Wil's already filled me in on the what's what."  
  
"Right," Spike said, sounding put off.  
  
Buffy hopped off the sarcophagus and headed for the door. "Better get moving."  
  
"Hey, wait," Spike said, rising to his feet.  
  
Buffy spun around and gave him her 'hurry up—I'm action girl' look.  
  
"I've, uh, got your back—remember?"  
  
She broke out into a smile. "Yeah?"  
  
His eyes met hers. "Always."  
  
In several long strides, he went to the door and politely opened it for her. Buffy looked at him sharply, opened her mouth as if to say something, but just shook her head and walked by him.  
  
Spike took a final look around the interior of his old lair, reflecting on the dark existence he'd left behind; in pursuit of a seemingly unattainable object, his course, once evil, had been completely turned around. He then stepped out into the cemetery and breathed in the cool night air, letting it fill his lungs. As the heavy crypt door swung shut behind him, he hastened to catch up with the girl who'd unwittingly led him down a path he would've never chosen on his own.  
  
Ten steps ahead of him, Buffy stopped, turned and waited until he'd caught up to her. His chasing days were over—at least where the Slayer was concerned. He shot her a crooked smile, then together, they headed out into the night. 


End file.
